Flesh and Bone
by ThisIsMyGuise
Summary: 'I was most definitely not in London anymore. Nope. London did not look so bright. Or green.' After an accident leaves Naomi Ainsley stranded in Middle Earth, she unwillingly joins Thorin and the company on their quest to Erebor.
1. Chapter 1

I had finally run out of excuses. For months, Annie had been hounding me to come visit them, and each time I had miraculously managed to find reason after reason why I couldn't go and stay with them. "I'd love to, Annie," I'd say down the phone to her, my tone partially patronising as I blatantly lied to her. I didn't even feel bad about it. Sure, Annie was supposed to be family, but that didn't mean I wanted to spend time with her. "But I have an essay to write and I need to be holed up in the library." Annie didn't need to know that I had no assignments due, or the fact that I hadn't visited the campus library since my second year, not since the entire library database had been uploaded online and I could access it through the comfort of my own living room. Or "It's so kind of you to invite me up, but Harvey's grandmother has just died and he really needs me right now. Another time though?" Again, Annie wasn't to know that both of Harvey's grandmothers were still alive and kicking, despite being well into their nineties, or that I had split up with him three months ago. Then there was "Sunetra is off sick and I have to cover", or "I have a doctor's appointment," or "The boiler has broken and I've got to wait for the gasman to fix it."

Annie didn't believe me, I'm sure of it. But she never scolded me, never told me to stop lying. She was too desperate to be my friend; too desperate for my approval. Instead she'd just sigh and go "That's such a shame, Naomi," her voice completely sincere, "we were really looking forward to see you. Felix misses you. We all do." And I'd have to swallow down a scoff and promise that next time I'd try and make it.

And unfortunately that time had come. Annie had called last night whilst I was packing, claiming to be checking what time my train was due in at York station, but I knew she was making sure I hadn't somehow found an excuse not to go. And I had tried to find a reason, but instead I came up blank. I had no excuse, no lie, not this time. The only thing that could stop me having to endure a week of mundane chitchat with my father and Annie was if I was hit by a bus on the way to the train station. And in all honesty, I was desperately praying for that to happen, because although I got on with my family, it was easier to like them when I lived in London and they lived in Yorkshire and I didn't have to be cooped up in a small country cottage with them.

I was booked on the 15.54 train from London Saint Pancras to York, and despite the fact that I was 24 years old, I spent all morning sulking at the prospect of a full week of limited mobile signal, no wifi access and having to bond with Annie and Felix, because according to my father, I needed to try harder and be nicer to them. In fact, according to the last conversation I had with my dad, seven weeks ago, I needed to be nicer to everyone. Apparently I was too unfriendly, too apathetic, too passive aggressive, which all resulted in me being unable to hold a stable relationship. In other words, I was a heartless bitch, but that was something I was already well aware of, so his words didn't bother me. I had been called a lot worse, both to my face and behind my back. And, as I pointed out to him, if he hadn't been off "shagging everything that happened to have a pulse, and spent a bit more time with me as a child, I might have turned out a little bit nicer."

I really didn't want to go and see them. Annie was nice, I suppose, but she was just so annoying. Every time she phoned me, I had to grit my teeth and force a smile and pretend to be interested in the boring little life that she happened to share with my Dad. This week was going to push me to the limit. It wasn't going to end well, I knew it wasn't. I just couldn't hold my tongue and smile and nod and um and ah about things. I had to make spiteful comments and stir situations and make things awkward and horrible for people, because that was just the sort of person I was.

But when it got to three o'clock, I dutifully put on my coat and boots and grabbed my bags, stumbling slightly under the weight of my small holdall. Sure, I was only going away for a week, but I had ended up packing at least two options of clothing for each day, several woolly jumpers - because North Yorkshire was practically an Arctic wasteland - and an abundance of underwear. I paused in front of the mirror next to my front door, checking my hair and makeup until I deemed myself completely presentable, before opening the door. And immediately began cursing at the deluge of rain pouring out of the sky.

I hovered on the front step, trying to balance my bags, lock my door and dodge the drops of rain falling heavily. Like an idiot, I hadn't bothered to pack my umbrella, despite the fact that it nearly always rained in North Yorkshire. Already, the small path up to the steps that lead to the pavement had been turned into a river. I smiled bitterly, regretting the fact that I lived in a basement flat. I ran up the stairs, trying not to step into the puddles forming and opened the gate at the top. I glanced up and down the road, desperately trying to find a cab. Normally, I would have walked to the tube, but I was wearing my Stella Jean coat that had cost me nearly a month's pay and I really did not want to get it wet. So I scoured the street, hoping that a black cab would suddenly appear.

And, as if by magic, one just happened to pull up on the other side of the road. Sure, there was a pregnant woman who had also noticed it, and who had begun to edge closer to it, but she was a good 500 meters away and all I had to do was cross the road and slide into it. Maybe I should have been polite and let her have it, but I didn't. After all, I had a train to catch.

So I stepped out into the road. And then bam. Blackness.

In my desperation for the taxi, I had failed to notice the bus until about a second before it hit me. And by then, it was too late.

I remember someone screaming. I remember the rain pouring down on me. And I remember thinking that it was going to be bloody hard to get the stains out of my coat, and if it had been ripped, I was going to murder the bus driver. Then there was nothing. I'm not sure how long I was out cold for, but the next time I opened my eyes, I was most definitely not in London anymore.

Nope. London did not look so bright. Or green. There was so much green that for a moment, I thought I was back home in Yorkshire. But the grass looked a lot more vivid than I remembered it being, like I was seeing the world through a HD lens, whereas in Yorkshire, due to the constant drizzle of rain that filtered through the moors, the landscape looked a lot duller.

Slowly, I sat up. I was in a field. In the middle of nowhere. "Fuck," I muttered, freezing as someone chuckled at my coarse language. Up until this point, I had assumed I was alone. Eyes wide, I turned around.

"Ah, Miss Ainsley," the voice said. A voice, I slowly realised, which belonged to an old man, who was wearing a grey cloak and pointed hat. All I could do was stare silently at him, suddenly feeling very disorientated. "I've been waiting for you. You've got an adventure to go on.

**Author's Note 1: I've really been intrigued with the idea of placing an OC character who is slightly antagonistic within the Middle Earth world. I want a character who is unwilling to help, cutting with her remarks, and generally disdainful towards most. Enter Naomi Ainsley, my OC character who is hopefully the right balance of sarcasm, sass and bitchiness. **

**Author's Note 2: Within my story, the films do not exist. That said, the plotline will be following the films, because I am a bad person who hasn't gotten round to reading the book yet. And I figured, having a completely new character enter Middle Earth would alter events slightly.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit. **


	2. Chapter 2

"What the hell?" I finally managed to say, after a two minute staring contest with the old man. He was tall, towering over me even though I was wearing heels, but I was pretty sure I could take him down if I had to. Sure, I was small and slim, but I had pointy elbows and a sharp jab in the ribs would be enough to wind him and give me enough time to make my escape. "How do you know my name?" I demanded, raising an eyebrow as I perched a hand on my hip as I coldly stared at him.

"I know your name because I know you," the man replied cryptically, the edges of his lips curling up into an amused smirk.

I scoffed in reply, wondering when I should start to run. The guy obviously had a few marbles loose, and getting as far away as possible from him seemed like the best thing to do. But I didn't. I liked arguing too much. It was an awful quality that I was well aware of having. I just couldn't leave things alone. I always had to have a biting remark. Always had to have the last words. Always had to twist the knife in a little further. "You don't know me. I don't know you. I think I'd remember meeting some crazed lunatic dressed as a medieval hobo." It was true. The guy even had a pipe. Who the hell smoked pipes nowadays?

If my words hurt him, he didn't let it show. And that made me feel slightly disappointed. I liked insulting people. Sure, it was mean of me; cruel and unforgiving, even, but I guess that's just the sort of person I am. Instead, the man just raised a eyebrow, mirroring me. "You've changed, Naomi," he stated, the disappointment dripping from his voice.

I didn't understand why he looked and sounded disappointed at me, but he did. He frowned, silently scolding me. I didn't break my gaze away from him. There was no way I was being guilt-tripped into apologising to a complete stranger. "Look, I think you've got me confused with someone else, because I don't have a clue who you are. And in all honesty, I don't care who you are. "

"You're not Naomi Ainsley?"

"No," I lied effortlessly, the word slipping out of my mouth with ease. That's the thing with lying effectively; answer too quickly and people know you're making things up, but hesitate and you give the entire game away. It's all about the timing, and let me tell you, I've got great timing.

And yet the old man seemed unconvinced. "You're lying," he stated confidently. "You've changed, but you're still the same."

I couldn't help it. I rolled my eyes in response. "Can we stop talking in riddles please? Do you realise how tiring it is?" I glanced around again, eyeing the landscape once more. Other than the mass of green, there was a small cluster of trees that encased us. And behind them, there must have been a village of some sorts, if the trails of lazy smoke swirling in the sky were anything to go by.

"Only if you can admit that you are Naomi Ainsley," the man replied quickly.

"Fine," I muttered, sighing impatiently and tapping my foot in annoyance. "Yes, I'm Naomi. Are you happy now?"

"Ecstatic," he replied dryly.

My curiosity finally got the best of me. "And you are?" I asked, still not recognising him. I was sure we had never met. Somehow I felt that I would have remembered meeting someone as annoying as the man stood in front of me, because that way I would have known to avoid him at all cost.

"You really don't remember?"

"Evidentially, I don't," I said through gritted teeth. By now, I was bored. And I was tired and my head was hurting, so I was more irritable than usual.

He smiled and shook his head, infuriating me even more. "Then I guess introductions are needed," he said, offering me his hand to shake. "I go by many names, but you probably know me best by the name of Gandalf."

Words failed me. I just stared at him, before looking down at his hand that was hanging awkwardly between us. Finally, after what seemed to be a couple of especially elongated minutes, I finally came to my senses. "Nope. No. You're most definitely not."

And that was when I decided enough was enough and began to walk away. I had no idea where I was, and I didn't really care. I just needed some space. I needed to get away from the crazy person, who was now following me as I stormed across the field towards the thing veil of trees that seemed to isolate us from civility. It was in times like this that I really regretted my decision to stop smoking. Sure, it wouldn't lessen the stress of the situation I currently found myself in, but at least it was an act of normality that I was well actuated with. I really needed a cig. I would have done anything for one. Murder someone, even.

"I can assure you that I am indeed Gandalf the Grey," the man said, his voice only raising slightly. I just scoffed and ignored him, carrying on walking through the tall grass that seemed to rest high on my thigh. Which, considering I was wearing heels, was no mean feat. I didn't get far, as a hand shot out and wrapped itself around my wrist, pulling me to a stop. "If I say I am Gandalf the Grey, than I am Gandalf the Grey."

"Right," I said, dragging out the single syllable, my voice full of disbelief. There was no way the man in front of me was Gandalf. Gandalf was a fictional character in a fictional book. And the man in front of me was definitely not fictional. No, he was, quite annoyingly, very real. "Not only are you claiming to be Gandalf, you're also convinced that we've met before. But I'm 99% sure that I would remember meeting Gandalf. Somehow I don't think that's the sort of thing that people forget."

"Perhaps another name might jog your memory? Do you remember a Mr. Greyson?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but the "No..." died on my lips as my brain lit up in recognition of the name. Faintly, somewhere at the back of my mind, that name sounded familiar. But I wasn't going to admit it. "No," I said, a lot more firmer this time, "I don't remember a Mr. Greyson."

Gandalf, or the man claiming to be Gandalf, shook his head. "You're lying again, Miss Ainsley." He was right, of course. Internally, I cursed, not used to people calling me out on my blatant fibs. I did know the name, but I couldn't remember why I knew it. "You were eleven. So young, and so happy. I remember it well. You spent all of the summer in the library."

I frowned, words abandoning me. That sounded familiar, because it was true. Gandalf was right. I had been young and happy and I did spend a lot of the time in the library. My parents were still unhappily married that summer, but I was too naive to notice how miserable they were. They would ship me off to the library whilst my dad spent a romantic weekend with his secretary and my mum stayed at home, getting more bitter by the day.

And there had been a Mr. Greyson. He had volunteered at the library. He'd always get the books on shelves I couldn't reach down for me. He'd give me biscuits and orange juice and generally keep an eye on me as I read book after book. Fantasy books had been my favourite; the world's in them seemed impossibly amazing and I would gape in awe at the pages.

But that was before everything changed and I grew up and started living in the real world, where everything was miserable and I ended up being cynical. "You're telling me you're Mr. Greyson?"

"Yes," he replied, nodding vigorously, probably glad I had finally caught up.

"And you're telling me that this is Middle Earth? That I'm in Middle Earth?"

"Yes. The Shire, to be precise," he said, watching me carefully, as if waiting for me to freak out.

Instead, I just nodded slowly. "Okay then," I managed to say quietly, mainly to myself. My head was rushing, trying to find a logical explanation.

"Okay?" Gandalf questioned, obviously expecting a different response. What did he want from me? Screaming? Fan-girling? Well, he would be bitterly disappointed, because he wasn't going to get any of that from me.

There were only two logical explanations. Either I had gone completely and utterly mad, or I was dead. I didn't know which one I preferred. Neither option appealed to me. Or maybe Gandalf was the mad one. But he seemed so convinced of himself, and everything he had said was true. "I'll believe you," I said, "if you can prove that we're in Middle Earth."

"And how am I supposed to prove that to you?"

I bit down on my lip, chewing the red lipstick I had precisely painted onto my lips that morning off. "Show me a hobbit," I replied, after a moment's thought.

Gandalf grinned at me, but it wasn't reassuring. He looked way too happy for my liking, and I was instantly on edge. "I was hoping you'd say that," he admitted, offering me his arm. I just ignored it. "Very well then. We better get walking," he said, and without bothering to wait for me, off he went.

I must have been the mad one. It was the only explanation as to why I dutifully followed him. For half an hour we walked in silence. I wouldn't admit it out loud, but whether or not we were in Middle Earth, it was extremely beautiful. Small streams meandered through the valley that we were walking through. And slowly the landscape started to shift; paths appeared which led to cosy little cottages.

Cottages which had round doors. And who lived in cottages with round doors? Hobbits. "Shit," I mumbled under my breath; if Gandalf heard my curse, he didn't mention it.

"So," I said, finally deciding to break the silence that had descended between us, "If you're Gandalf, and this is The Shire...then why the hell am I here?"

Gandalf peered down at me, "Like I said, Miss Ainsley; you're here to go on a adventure."

I laughed, though there was no humour in my voice. "Not going to happen. Me and adventures don't go together. And anyway, I just had my nails done." I held my hands up to prove a point, sighing as I realised that the red nail varnish had already begun to chip away, despite the fact that I had only had them done two days before.

"Why are you so bitter, Miss Ainsley?" Gandalf asked suddenly, causing me to drag my gaze away from my ruined nails and up to his clear blue eyes. Way to sour the mood, I thought moodily. "You used to have such a bright smile."

I raised an eyebrow, not really wanting to answer. Gandalf might have thought he knew me, but he didn't. No one really knew me. A part of me wanted to yell at him to mind his own bloody business, but I didn't. I think there was a part of him that wanted to get a rise out of me, and I really didn't want to give in to him. So I just shrugged instead. "Oh you know. Life. The economy. Debt. Tax. High food prices. Inflation. It's enough to get a girl down," I said, my voice light and airy, as if I didn't give a damn.

Gandalf was still staring at me, his eyes full of pity. Anger surged inside of me; I didn't need his pity or his worry or his concern. "Are we going to see a hobbit or not?" I finally asked, my tone biting as I ended the topic.

Nodding, Gandalf started to move again. So off we went, once again in silence as we walked through The Shire. I tried desperately to look unimpressed by it all, but it was hard to keep the awe off of my face as I noticed the cottages built into the hillsides.

Everything looked perfect. The doors were painted brightly. The gardens were neat and full of colour and bloom. Eventually, Gandalf slowed his pace and came to a stop in front of one particular hobbit hole. "Go on," he said, gesturing for me to open the gate. I rolled my eyes, but did as he said. Instead of holding it open for him, though, I let it slam behind me, for no reason other than to antagonise him. It was Gandalf's turn to roll his eyes, but he opened the gate silently, stepped past me and strolled up to the door, knocking on it confidently.

The sound of someone shuffling inside could be heard, before a small voice filtered through, "I'm coming, I'm coming." I glanced down at the gravelled path, trying to ignore the excitement which seemed to be brewing inside of me. I refused to let it bubble to the surface though; I didn't do excitement. I didn't do giddiness. I didn't do happy. And I definitely did not want Gandalf to know that he had well and truly piqued me interest. So instead, I just glared at the floor, looking fed up and sighing heavily.

After what seemed to take forever, but was probably only a minute or two, the door finally opened, revealing a grumpy looking fellow, who just so happened to resemble a hobbit, which his mass of curls and large, hairy feet. Shit, I thought. This was actually happening. I was actually in Middle Earth.

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit**


	3. Chapter 3

The hobbit look glum, glaring at us with a frown etched upon his face. Or, should I say, glaring at Gandalf. I smirked slightly, happy that I wasn't the only one who seemed to find the wizard infuriating. "Not you again," the hobbit grumbled, folding his arms against his chest as he stared up at Gandalf. "I already told you, I want nothing to do with this adventure nonsense."

Gandalf just smiled and shook his head, an amuse smirk playing on his lips. "That is still to be decided, but that is not the reason why I am here. I want to introduce you to someone. This," he said, moving to the side and revealing me to the hobbit. With a flamboyant hand movement, he gestured towards me, "is Miss Ainsley. She wanted to see a hobbit, and you, my dear friend, are a hobbit."

It pains me to admit it, but at that moment, I was in a state of shock. "Hey," I said, waving awkwardly at the hobbit, unsure of what else to do. My mind was buzzing and whirling as I stared, wide eyed. I was in Middle Earth. Fuck. Why the hell was I in Middle Earth?

"Hello," the hobbit replied, his voice a little bit less hostile, though he eyed me cautiously. I guess I must have looked a little strange, but at least I was wearing semi-appropriate clothing. If it weren't for the fact that it had been cold and miserable in London, I would have been showing a lot more skin. Instead, I was decked out quite conservatively, wearing black leggings, adjourned with two strips of faux-leather that wrapped itself around my thigh and calf, a plain grey jumper with a statement necklace, black ankle boots and my beloved maroon, bouclé coat. Of course, I looked completely fabulous, but somehow I could tell the hobbit didn't appreciate my awesome taste in fashion.

"Naomi, this is Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf informed me.

"What?" I practically screeched, spinning around to gaze at Gandalf. "He's *the* hobbit?" I asked, instantly recognising the name.

My outburst seemed to amuse Gandalf, who laughed. Instantly, I regretted my words and shrugged, attempting to seem nonchalant but failing miserable. Meanwhile, Bilbo was still staring at me, his gaze full of suspicion and confusion. "You've heard of him. That's good, seeing as I need you to stay here with Bilbo. I have a few errands to run," Gandalf informed me.

"What?" both Bilbo and I asked. The hobbit looked distraught at the thought of having me inside his precious little house, but I wasn't insulted by it. I mean, it was sort of understandable. I knew I probably looked - and acted - a little strange.

And anyway, my attention was solely on Gandalf. My hand whipped out and grabbed hold of his robe just as he began to move towards the gate. "Oh no," I informed him, my voice quiet but dangerous as I began to pull him closer to me. "You're not going anywhere until you explain what the hell I am doing here!" I narrowed my eyes at him, my lips set firmly on my face in a frown. I had made people cry with that look in the past, especially the interns at the office where I worked, but Gandalf was obviously made of stronger stuff then some newly graduated paper shuffler, as he just looked down at me, the amusement clear in his face.

I swallowed hard, really wanting to lift my hand and slap him. It wouldn't solve anything - and it certainly wouldn't give me the answers I demanded - but I was pretty sure it would make me feel a hell of a lot better. Whoever said violence didn't solve anything obviously didn't understand the pleasure of a good old bitch slap. "Patience is a virtue, Naomi," Gandalf informed me, smiling quite pleasantly at me, making it even harder to resist the urge to smack him one. "Now, please, unhand me."

I snorted, but didn't budge. "No. Not going to happen. I want an explanation. And I want it now," I snarled at him. For someone who happened to currently be in a fictional universe, I thought I was coping pretty calmly. I mean, I hadn't started screaming or anything. Not that I would, because that was a sign of weakness and I didn't do being weak. But I'm rambling. I was in this strange world, and although I was pretty collected, I still wanted an explanation.

"And you will get your answers, but later." And with that, he thrust his arm away from me, loosening the vicelike grip I had on his cloak. With a dramatic twirl, he wandered back down the path and out of the gate, not once looking back.

I was left standing in Bilbo Baggins' front garden. I turned to face him, offering him a small smile in greeting. He was still staring after Gandalf, sputtering a string of words that I couldn't quite make out, though Gandalf's name was muttered a few times. And, judging by the black look painted onto Bilbo's face, I doubted whatever he was saying was complimentary about the bloody wizard.

"So," I said, dragging Bilbo's attention back to me. "You going to invite me in or what?"

Bilbo looked taken aback; whether it was because of my upfront nature, or his lapse in politeness, I wasn't too sure. But he nodded, and gestured for me to enter his home. "Right. Yes. Of course. Step inside, Miss Ainsley," he told me, waiting for me to walk inside, before following me in and slamming the door shut.

"It's just Naomi," I informed him, standing in his hallway. I glanced around quickly, nodding absently to myself. "Nice digs," I told him, but the confused look that appeared on his face suggested that my compliment had flown completely over his curly haired head. Not one for saying two nice things straight after each other, I didn't bother to translate my comment into words Bilbo would have understood. So instead, the two of us stood awkwardly, encased by a heavy silence.

Bilbo's forehead furrowed even further as he continued to stare at me. "What?" I asked, not exactly enjoying being analysed by the hobbit. I sighed, swinging my bags from side to side, suddenly very glad that I still had some of my belongings with me.

"Oh, nothing. Nothing," Bilbo assured me, biting his lip. "Would you like some tea?" He finally asked, ushering me further into his home.

"Sure," I replied, following him into the kitchen. Without waiting for him to offer me a seat, I pulled out one of the chairs at the table and sat down. Bilbo looked absolutely scandalised by the fact that I was making myself comfortable in his house. Maybe that just wasn't what was done in the Shire, but in all honesty, I didn't give a damn for manners or formalities or small niceties. "That would be lovely," I said as he continued to stare, my tone saccharine, despite the fact that I wasn't really a tea drinker. I lived off coffee. No, scratch that, I survived because of coffee. But I was feeling sorry for the confused hobbit, so I let him dutifully make me a cup of tea, even though I wasn't going to drink it.

"Here you go," Bilbo said as he handed me the cup. I smiled and nodded, but placed it in front of me on the table. "How do you know Gandalf?" He asked me, still standing.

I shrugged. "I don't. I just met him today."

"Well, I don't want to seem rude, but I really feel like this should be said. I don't think it's right, him dragging strange women in here. No offense to you, Miss Ainsley, but I doubt you'd like it if he brought complete strangers into your house," Bilbo told me, his tone severe despite his ramblings.

I just smirked. "Just you wait," I told him cryptically, hinting at the fact that some point in the future, a company of dwarves would be thrust into his life. And that's when my brain finally kicked into gear. It was a proper light bulb moment as the realisation dawned on me. My eyes widened and I hit the table with the palms of my hands. "Wait. How do you know Gandalf?"

As I expected, Bilbo repeated the answer I had just given him, although he said it a lot more eloquently than I did. "I'm afraid I don't know him, Miss Ainsley. I only conversed with him today, which is why I'm a little put out that he'd invited you into my house."

That could only mean one thing. The dwarves were coming. Tonight. "Shit," I mumbled quietly to myself, but of course Bilbo heard me. His eyes widened in horror at my language, but my mind was whirling with thoughts of dwarves and dragons to be too concerned with him.

Was this why I was here? Had Gandalf somehow managed to transport me from London to Middle Earth to help with some stupid, suicidal quest. It seemed unlikely; why would he? There was no reason. I couldn't help, even if I wanted to. And I didn't. I didn't care what happened to a bunch of fictional characters, because none of them were real. This was all make-believe. This was all some weird dream. All I had to do was wake up and I'd be back in London, probably in a hospital bed and suffering from one hell of a banging headache. That was, if I could wake up...

"Do you have a spare bedroom? I need to get cleaned up," I asked, feeling the need to be alone, as I kicked my chair back so that it scrapped against the flagstone floor. It sounded like a horrible screech that shuddered through the quiet hobbit hole. Bilbo looked startled, but I was already stood up, bad in hand, and walking back towards the hallway.

The hobbit had to practically run to catch up with my long strides, but dutifully, he led me to a room. "Here you go," he said, opening the door to me. Though he was being polite, it was obvious that he didn't want me in his house. _That makes two of us_, I thought to myself glumly. Despite the fact that I really hadn't wanted to go home for the week, suddenly I felt like I would have done anything to me sat at my Dad's kitchen table, being forced into small talk with Annie.

"Thanks," I muttered, eyes down as I brushed past him, causing our shoulders to collide. And with that, I slammed the door in his face.

As I surveyed the room, a grim look appeared on my face. My top lip curled up with disdain. The room was quant. Of course it was quant and nice and cosy. I shouldn't have expected anything less. The bed was a small wooden frame and had been made up with frilly pillows and a patchwork quilt. The walls were adorned with pictures of fields and flowers and other nice things. It reminded me of some crappy bed and breakfast Harvey and I had stayed in when we spent the weekend in Stratford-upon-Avon. I had hated every minute of it.

I sighed, and sat down on the bed. This all had to be a dream. Just some crazy dream. I'd wake up. of course I'd wake up. That was how it worked. Nothing bad ever happened in dreams. You woke up before anything too painful could happen. Everyone knows that is how it works.

All I had to do was shock myself; force my mind to restart. It was that simple. So taking off my coat and rolling up my sleeve, I pinched myself. Hard. But nothing happened. So I did it a bit harder, making sure that my nails pierced my skin. Nothing happened. I closed my eyes. Then I held my hand out, palm stretched wide, before slapping myself. The pain was sharp, shooting through my cheek, but as I opened my eyes, I was annoyed to see I was still in the stupid, flowery room.

I scrambled for my bag, emptying the contents onto the bed. It looked so strange, seeing my underwear spread across Bilbo's bed, but I was so focused in finding my nail file, that I was unable to smirk at the mental image of Bilbo and my spare, lacy black bra. Rummaging through my clothes and belonging, I finally found the damned thing at the bottom of the pile. At this point, my mind was frantic, and before I could think about what I was about to do - before my brain could catch up and tell me it was an absolutely stupid idea - I did it. I plunged the nail file into the fleshy bit on the palm of my hand, just below the thumb.

Yes, I stabbed myself. But despite the fact that my hand was bleeding and that there was a searing pain shooting up my arm and that there were actual tears streaming down my face, I was still in Bilbo Baggins' spare room. "Fuck," I said. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

This could not be happening. Not to me. Just no. No way. And yet, here I was. I was actually in fucking Middle Earth. And by the looks of it, I wasn't going to be leaving any time soon.

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit**


	4. Chapter 4

The dwarves had finally arrived. At least, two of them had. Dwalin and Balin. I hadn't bothered to leave the safety of Bilbo's spare bedroom to greet them, but I could hear their loud voices filtering through Bilbo's house. And I could hear the hobbit scampering around, still completely confused as to how his day, which had started out so nicely, had ended up with him having two dwarves pilfering his pantry and some weird, moody girl cooped up in his spare room.

Personally, I blamed Gandalf. It was all his fault. And, if I remembered the books correctly, he was going to turn up pretty soon. That was the only saving grace. When Gandalf finally decided to reappear, him me were going to have words. I sighed heavily, staring at the ceiling. There wasn't exactly much to do in the room, so after I had ripped up Bilbo's nice, clean sheets to wrap around my bloody hand, I had succumbed to the comfort of the bed.

That had been three hours ago, and it was safe to say that I was well and truly bored. That didn't mean I was going to go out and be friendly with a bunch of dwarves though. I wanted nothing to do with them. I didn't care about them or their stupid little journey to some inconsequential mountain. I had already met a wizard and a hobbit; I really didn't need to meet anymore fantastical creatures in my life at this moment.

I'm sure the dwarves were lovely people, but that didn't mean I wanted to meet with them. I didn't want to know them. I just couldn't deal with that. I mean, this whole situation was absurd. Here I was, in the house of a fictional character in a fictional world. A fictional world that I knew like the back of my hand. It was already twisted and complicated, and I was pretty sure that me waltzing into the hobbit's kitchen and announcing my amazing presence was just going to confuse matters even more. It was just easier if I stayed out of the way, until Gandalf got back and zapped me back to London.

I stretched my arm out - the one which I hadn't attacked - blindly trying to locate my phone, which was sat at the top of the pile of crap I had emptied out of my bag. I had already tried it, but whatever magic had brought me here seemed to have killed my phone. I swear, if it was broken, I was going to force Gandalf to replace it. But there was something comforting about holding it, so I did.

There was a knock at the front door. Fili and Kili. Bilbo was obviously distracted by the other two dwarves, because he didn't go to answer it. Another knock. And another. Talk about impatient. Finally, I could hear the sound of Bilbo shuffling towards the door, muttering angrily to himself. And then there was the cheerful tones of the Durin heirs, chatting happily and forcing their way into the hobbit hole.

Sitting up, I stretched, groaning as my neck clicked. Hobbit beds were comfy, but they definitely weren't designed for humans. Even though I was pretty short, the bed was tiny and I had to curl my body up just to fit on it. Although my back ached, my head was feeling a hell of a lot better. No longer was it throbbing. No longing was my mind whirling; thoughts hurdling through my skull at 50 miles an hour. I could actually focus. All I had to do now was figure out a way to get home.

But my mind came up blank. I had no idea. No clue. And really, what was there that I could do? It was obvious that Gandalf was the reason why I was here. And if he had brought me here, then he could easily send me back.

I just had to wait for him to come back and then all he had to do was do his magic and I'd be back home again. It was simple.

But I was bored and fed up of waiting and the flowery wallpaper was really doing my head in; my eyes were strained just by looking at it. I stood up and searched through my mass of belongings, smiling triumphantly when I finally found my makeup bag. I made my way over to the dresser, where a small mirror hung on the wall. I had to squat slightly to peer at my reflection, the mirror hung too low for me; I didn't look too bad, all things considering. After all, I had been hit by a bus, so it was expected that I was going to look a little worse for wear. My eyeliner had been smudged, but instead of making me look like a panda, it actually looked pretty good, like I had spent hours perfecting a smoky look. My lipstick had faded though, so I grabbed my red lippy and began to reapply it.

After I was happy that I looked respectable - which only happened after five minutes of me dragging a comb through the mess that was my hair - I studied my appearance. What can I say? I'm vain, so kill me. I looked good. Nothing too special, but all I needed was a bit of makeup and looked better than most, mainly due to the fact that I had been blessed with a pair of killer cheekbones and that because my grandparents' hailed from Perpignan, I had luckily inherited their Mediterranean tan.

Finally happy with my appearance, I decided to leave my cosy, little room. I just needed some fresh air; a new piece of scenery. I didn't want to run into any dwarves, let alone speak to any. Beneath me, the floorboards creaked at the sudden shift in weight, causing me to inwardly curse. Cautiously, I made my way to the door, pressing my ear against the wood as I tried to figure out where the dwarves and the hobbit were.

I didn't want to see them. I didn't want to speak to them. What I wanted was to get drunk. Alcohol was sure to ease the confusion that still lingered around me. Silently, I opened the door, praying that I could creep to Bilbo's pantry and steal some wine. It would probably be the only thing left after the dwarves had been in there; somehow I couldn't imagine them drinking a nice glass of red.

Luckily for me, they all seemed to be in the kitchen, so I managed to sneak into the pantry without being seen. I glanced around the shelves, smiling triumphantly when I finally found two bottles of wine. I had to stand on my tiptoes to reach them, stretching my finders to prise them off of the top shelf, but I managed it. With one bottle in each hand, I spun round and retreated, nearing the door to the room I had claimed as my own. Unfortunately for me, that was when my name was sounded.

"Miss Ainsley!" Bilbo cried happily, causing me to grimace. But as I turned round to face him, I plastered a false smile on my face. It actually hurt my cheeks to smile that much, but I figured that seeing as I had just been caught red-handed stealing his wine, I might as well try and be nice to the hobbit.

"Bilbo," I said, nodding in his general direction, my eyes trained solely on him as I tried to ignore the fact that there were two dwarves just mere metres away from me. They were stood behind Bilbo; an identical look of surprise painted on their faces.

It was even harder to ignore them when they started to speak to me. "I didn't know you had a wife, Mister Baggins," Kili said, a smirk appearing on his lips, as he moved closer to me.

Whilst I just pulled a face, Bilbo looked aghast at the thought of being married to me. "No, you've got it all wrong. Miss Ainsley and I are definitely not married," he managed to sputter out; his cheeks tinged red with embarrassment.

"My mistake," Kili replied, turning his attention from the hobbit to me. I gave him and his brother a quick glance up and down, surprising myself as I did so. For fictional dwarves, they were both kind of attractive. Fili looked more regal of the two, but Kili looked more impish. I hadn't expected them to be so handsome, but they were. And, to my dismay, they were only a couple of centimetres shorter than me. It didn't make any sense; they were dwarves, for God's sake, and I was in heels. I should have at least been a head taller than them, but I wasn't.

Fili had also stepped forward, his mouth opening as if to speak. He was probably going to introduce himself, but I interrupted him. Dismissing the brothers, I turned my attention back to the hobbit. "Can I have these?" I asked, holding the bottles up. It was a rhetorical question, though, because I didn't bother to wait for his response. Instead, I just stepped past the Durin heirs and slammed the door shut to my room.

I could hear one of them ask, "Who was that?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Bilbo admitted.

I stopped listening. I piled my belongings back into my bag and sat down on the bed. Placing one of the bottles on the mahogany side table, I twisted the cap off of the other one. I lifted it to my lips and took a large gulp on it. And then I proceeded to choke on it. The wine was absolutely vile. The soured wines coated my throat, causing me to gag. I spit the rest of the wine back into the bottle, glaring at it as I placed in next to the other bottle.

So much for getting drunk to forget my woes.

After another half an hour, the doorbell went again. Bilbo answered it, and I could hear a mighty crash as the rest of the dwarves piled into the hobbit's home. Which only meant one thing; Gandalf had returned.

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit**


	5. Chapter 5

"Gandalf, a word," I said, strolling into the hobbit's hallway and trying my hardest to ignore the fact that I had several dwarves gaping at me. A part of me had thought about waiting till the coast was clear before I grabbed the wizard, but my need for answers was too high. Plus, I wasn't going to hide away. just because there happened to be some dwarves around. So I had brazenly opened the door, leaning against the frame as I watched Bilbo fret and fuss, only half amused at the scene playing out in front of me. Seriously, there were more important things in life, and yet Bilbo was freaking out about doilies. I mean, who even has doilies anymore?

I had let Gandalf appease the hobbit with some crappy excuse, before clearing my throat. The sound had caused twelve dwarves to simultaneously stare at me. I wasn't usually one to shy away from attention, but it was seriously unnerving, having that many dwarves - _fictional_ dwarves - scrutinise me.

"Just give me a minute, Naomi," Gandalf said, but if he thought he could placate me like he had done with Bilbo only a few moments before, he was in for a shock. I gritted my teeth, the annoyance flaring up inside of me. Sure, he was supposed to be some amazing wizard, but that didn't mean he could fob me off with some stupid answer.

I just stared coldly at him, my right hand squeezed into a tight fist. "No. Now," I hissed at him. After a moment had passed, Gandalf hadn't made any effort to move, so I sighed heavily and stalked up to him. I grabbed hold of the ridiculous cloak he was wearing an practically manhandled him into Bilbo's spare bedroom. "What the hell?" I demanded, slamming the door shut.

"Was that really necessary?" The stupid wizard asked, looking at me with quiet disdain.

I just scoffed in response. "Yes. I want answers. So spill. What the actual fuck is going on here?" I asked, no longer bothering to keep up the pretence of politeness.

Gandalf rolled his eyes. I just stared at him, not quite believing I was being out-sassed by some old guy wearing a dress. "I've already told you, Miss Ainsley. You're going on an adventure."

"No. I'm sorry, but that's not good enough. Like, it's not even a proper answer. It just poses more questions. So no. Try again," I ranted, pacing back and forth on the floral rug that somebody had obviously lovingly taken their time to make. And there I was, treading mud through it.

There was something about Gandalf that I didn't like. Sure, as a kid, I thought he was fan-freaking-tastic, but that was before I had met him and realised what an annoying old bugger he actually was. He seemed to always be wearing a smirk, as if he knew what was going to happen way before anyone else did. And I didn't like it at all. I hated not being in control of the situation; hated not knowing what was going to happen. I was usually he one manipulating the situation, but here I was, nothing more than some subordinate in whatever weird game Gandalf was playing.

Gandalf sighed, settling himself down on the bed. "What would you like to know, my dear?" he asked.

"Oh, I have a list," I muttered. I turned to face him, ignoring the disappointment that despite the fact Gandalf had sat down, we were still eye level. I stood in the middle of the room, watching him wearily. I was telling the truth. I had a million and one questions, though who could blame me? The situation I currently found myself in was beyond absurd. "First of all, why am I here?"

"To go-"

"If you dare end that sentence with 'on an adventure', I promise you that I will stab you in the eye with this," I warned, snatching my nail file from the bedside table and waving it menacingly as I edged closer to him. Sure, my nail file was no sword, but it had bloody hurt when I had sliced my hand open, so I was pretty sure I could do some damage with it. "How did I get here?"

"Magic. I bought you here," Gandalf admitted, giving me a small shrug, as if to say it was completely normal.

I gritted my teeth. I should have known it was all his fault. Sure, in my head, I had been blaming him all along, but I had no proof that he was responsible up until now. "So send me back," I said simply. And it was simple. A quick _wham, bam_ and a poof of smoke later, I could be back in London living my nice and normal life. And there wouldn't be a dwarf in sight.

Gandalf gave me a small smile. "I'm afraid, Miss Naomi, it isn't that easy. It took a lot of magic to bring you here. It would take weeks, if not months, to get the right amount of magic to send you back," he explained. I listened to his words, a jolt of annoyance shooting through my body with every syllable.

"That's not my problem!" I yelled, the anger that had been simmering all day finally boiling over. I clenched my jaw, silently counting to ten. After the brief explosion of anger had subsided slightly, I took a deep breath, trying to remain as calm as I could, although that was one hell of a task. "Look, it was a mistake bringing me here. I don't belong here. So please, just figure out a way to get me back home."

"I'm very sorry, but I simply cannot," Gandalf replied. Sure, he sounded sincere, but that was nothing to quell the frustration I was feeling. "The only reason I was able to bring you here today was because you were closer to this world than your own."

My forehead burrowed as I looked at him. "What?"

"I cast the spell to bring you here many years ago, when you were a child. Magic isn't just about fanciful fireworks, you know. It needs the right circumstances to thrive and for this spell to work, you needed to be disjointed from the world from where you belong."

"The accident..." I mumbled, staring at the ground as the realisation of Gandalf's words finally hit me. "I'm dead?"

"No," Gandalf replied, standing up and placing his hands on my shoulders. I guess he thought it was comforting, but I didn't need his compassion. I stiffened, standing rigid until he unhanded me. "But, I'm afraid, Miss Ainsley, you are close to death in your own world."

"That is utter bullshit!" I shouted, throwing my arms up in annoyance. A shot of pain ran from my left hand to my elbow but that just fuelled my anger even more. No, not anger. I had moved so far past anger at this point. I was actually raging at him; loathing and hatred was dripping from my very being . "Why me? Why do you need me?"

There was a moment of silence between us, Gandalf watching me carefully. Despite the fact that I was still waving my nail file around like it was a dagger, he didn't look too concerned for his own wellbeing and safety. He just looked at me, the pity obvious in his eyes.

"I need your help," he replied eventually, and even though I was still pissed off at him, his words made me pause for a moment.

I narrowed my eyes, arms crossed protectively against my chest. "Why do you need my help?"

Gandalf gave me a small smile."You have an advantage over me, my dear; you know what will happen. And although I do not have the gift of foresight, I have a feeling this journey will end up in tragedy. You are here, Miss Ainsley, to ensure that that doesn't happen."

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit**

**AN: I appreciate everyone who has taken time to review my story. It really means a lot to me. I'd also like to take this opportunity to reply to shishi's comment (I wish you weren't on anon, because then I wouldn't have to bore everyone else with my long and lengthy explanation.) So this is for shishi:**

**Thank you for your criticism. Seriously, I love criticism which actually explains why people don't like stuff, because otherwise, how am I supposed to improve? I totally understand your viewpoint, and for the most part, I actually agree with you. Naomi isn't supposed to be likable. She's supposed to be mean and rude and insensitive, and I can see why you can't relate to those qualities. I'm actually a Creative Writing and English graduate (cue the gasps of horror at the fact that I have no excuse for my crappy grammar and sentence structures other than the fact I'm a lazy writer) and the amount of times I've read stories in my classes where the main character is nice and sweet and innocent is just ridiculous. So I thought I'd shake things up a bit, being the rebel I am. Naomi is supposed to be a deeply flawed character. That said, you've got to understand that she's been placed in an entirely new world, and therefore many of her words and actions are masking the fact that she's lost and confused. You know, the whole fake it before you make it mindset. I don't think she's a completely horrible human being; I think she's cynical and blunt (and yes, could probably do with learning a few more manners), but everything else is her trying to cope with the fact that she has no control over the situation. Maybe I haven't made that clear (in fact, I'm sure I haven't: again, see point about me being a lazy writer) although it will be revealed slowly throughout the story. So yes, she will learn some compassion as the story goes on, because every character needs to be developed, but unfortunately that will take time, because no one wakes up with entirely new characteristics. Furthermore (sorry about this, I know I'm writing an essay here, but again, English graduate: we kind of have to hammer home the argument a bit) I feel like Naomi and Thorin share quite a few qualities. And whilst we can all agree that Thorin is flawed, he is still viewed as being a hero. I'm not trying to say that my writing is supposed to be a reflection of the double standards faced by women within society, but whilst Thorin is viewed as being a leader because he is determined and speaks his mind, Naomi is viewed as being a bitch because she is selfish and blunt. Anyway, I hope you at least read this chapter so you can see my response, and hopefully understand the reasons behind me writing Naomi as she is. If you don't continue to read my story, then fair enough. I would never force someone to read something they didn't like. If you do decide to continue with my writing, then maybe you can take solace in the fact that Naomi was run down by a bus because of her own rudeness. **


	6. Chapter 6

So apparently it was my destiny to change the entire storyline of _The Hobbit_ and save the line of Durin. Great. Just bloody great. I had always thought my destiny was to make a load of money, boss people around and have one hell of an amazing wardrobe, but apparently not.

"But why? Why me?" I whined, only just managing to restrain myself from stamping my foot on the ground. Seriously though, this day had gone from bad to completely horrendous and I really didn't need Gandalf talking about my destiny, like I didn't even have a choice in the matter. "I don't care what happens to a bunch of dwarves." And it was true. The only person I gave a damn about was myself. Sure, that might make me selfish, but the only person you could rely on in life was yourself, which was why I always put my own needs ahead of everyone else's.

Gandalf just shook his head at me, the disappointment clear in his crystal blue eyes. "It's your destiny. And anyway, you used to care about them."

"So? That was a long time ago," I retorted, shrugging nonchalantly about it. I had grown up since then; no longer was I a naive little girl who lost her head in books. I had left that old self behind years ago. I didn't need to surround myself with fantasies anymore. I had my own life, and although it hadn't completely gone to plan, I was actually quite fond of it.

"Come," Gandalf said, completely changing the subject as he moved closer to the door. "Let's go meet the dwarves."

I didn't get chance to complain or say no, because the damned wizard opened the door, before placing a his hands on my shoulders once again, his grip firm as he marched me out of the bedroom and down the hall towards the kitchen.

And that's when a dwarf appeared. "Gandalf," he said, completely ignoring me as he peered up towards the wizard. I knew that dwarves were kind of secretive folk, but there was no need to pretend I didn't exist. Talk about rude. I just stood next to Gandalf, narrowing my eyes at the dwarf. "Can I interest you in a nice cup on chamomile?"

"No thank you Dori," the wizard replied, "But can I introduce you to a dear friend of mine? This," he said, pointing to me, "is Miss Naomi Ainsley."

Dori regarded me carefully. "Dori, at your service," he finally said, probably deciding that I wasn't much of a threat. I just smiled tightly and nodded at him, not really sure on how to react. It had been a long time since I had read _The Hobbit, _so I couldn't quite remember proper dwarf etiquette.

Gandalf obviously didn't think I was being rude, because he spun me round and starting pointing and listing dwarves. "That's Dwalin, and there's Bofur, and Fili and..."

I yawned. "And Sleepy, Sneezy, Bashful and Doc," I said, tone bored as I interrupted him. Beside me, Dori looked mildly offended at my words, before flouncing off, but I didn't care. It wasn't like I needed Gandalf to introduce me to the dwarves. I knew them all already. I had read about all of them. I recognised each and every one of them, so Gandalf's introductions fell on empty ears.

Gandalf frowned at me. "Was that really necessary?" he asked, even though I was pretty sure he hadn't understood my reference.

"Yes," I answered shortly, watching Ori ask Bilbo where to put his plates. And that's when the singing began. I pulled a face. "Great, singing," I muttered grimly to myself, the disdain heavy in my tone. I wasn't really fond of singing, especially when the tune was as cheerful as the one the dwarves happened to be belting out. So whilst Gandalf watched amusedly, and Bilbo watched confusedly, I stood and stared glumly, glaring at Kili as he danced towards me. I really wasn't looking forward to the prospect of going on this damned quest, but the fact that it seemed to be turning into a musical was really putting me off.

As soon as the song finished, there was a knock at the door. Right on cue, I thought to myself, as Dwalin announced, "He is here."

I tried to convince myself the reason I followed everyone into the hallway had nothing to do with the fact I was curious and wanted to Thorin. No. The reason I followed was because I wanted to listen to Thorin yell at Gandalf, because I was pretty sure the dwarf king would not be happy with the fact Gandalf wanted me to join the quest. After all, I was a woman, and from what I remembered from reading the books, that meant that I was a fragile creature who needed to be protected at all costs.

Of course, it was complete bullshit. But I was hoping Thorin's misogyny would mean that I didn't have to be dragged along on his suicidal mission. Because despite what Gandalf said about it being my destiny, I was having serious doubts about it.

I stood a little back from the rest, leaning on a wall as Thorin entered, looking as regal as I expected him to. "Gandalf," Thorin said, greeting the wizard, as he took off his cloak and passed it to Kili. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way - twice. Wouldn't have found it at all if it weren't for the mark on the door." He looked mildly put out by his own lack of direction, and it took all my will not to snigger. Despite the fact I was currently in a fictional universe, it seemed all male brains were functioned the same. Men and dwarves alike, it seemed, would rather walk around aimlessly than admit they were lost and ask for help.

"Mark? There is no mark on the door, it was painted a week ago!" Bilbo exclaimed, looking horrified at the thought that his quant little home was being criticised. I sniggered quietly to myself; the hobbit really needed to get his priorities in order.

"There is a mark, I put it there myself," Gandalf admitted, giving Bilbo a sheepish, if not entirely apologetic, look. "Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield."

Thorin glanced down at the hobbit, eyes scanning Bilbo carefully. "So this is the hobbit. Tell me Master Baggins, have you done much fighting?"

Bilbo blinked, the confusion clear in his face. "Pardon me?" he asked, eyes glancing to and fro the dwarf and the wizard.

"Axe or sword, what's your weapon of choice?" Thorin asked, his tone irritable. I rolled my eyes. Thorin certainly had to work on his people skills. Maybe it was a good thing he ended up dead, because other than the regal grace he carried with him, he would be a crappy king. Charm and charisma were definitely two qualities that Thorin Oakenshield lacked.

"Well, I do have some skill at conkers if you must know. But I fail to see why that's relevant," Bilbo answered, blinking furiously at the dwarf.

"Thought as much," Thorin replied, staring coldly at the hobbit. "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar," and with that, he turned away from Bilbo, obviously done with the conversation.

As if on cue, the entire company starting chortling at his comment. Sure, Bilbo was a little bit on the pathetic side, but there was no need to openly mock him. He was cute and innocent, and despite the fact that those qualities tended to annoy the hell out of me, I couldn't help but feel a little fondness towards the hobbit.

I hadn't been noticed yet, mainly because I was lurking towards the back of the group, trying to look only half interested as I listened intently to the conversation. I knew it was only a matter of time before Gandalf broached the subject of me joining the company, even though I hadn't even agreed to it yet. I didn't want to be introduced by Gandalf. I didn't need him to speak for me. I could handle myself quite alright. I was already feeling pretty weak and powerless and I didn't need some stuck up dwarf to insult me like he had insulted Bilbo. I liked being in charge of the situation, so being in a world I had no control was foreign for me. But that didn't mean I wouldn't try to get some control back.

"That's rich," I said, walking further into the room. I smirked as the sea of dwarves parted for me, revealing me to Thorin, "coming from the dwarf who happens to look more like a peasant than a king."

There was an audible gasp that filtered through the room, so I guess my insult had hit the mark. Thorin just glared at me, jaw clenched tightly. I wanted to glare back, show him that I wasn't intimidated by him, but despite the fact I had only just met him, I already knew a better way to wind him up. So instead of glowering, I just smiled innocently at him, ignoring the fact that Gandalf was shaking his head at me.

I wandered over to a side cabinet, and sat on it, perching on the edge. Bilbo was too busy gaping to tell me off for climbing on his furniture. I swung my legs gently, waiting for Thorin's response.

He looked pissed. And also a little shocked that I had dared to talk to him in such a way. His eyes were full of loathing as he glared at me. "What did you say?" Thorin asked, though he had obviously heard what I said. His eyes were dangerous, silently daring me to repeat my words.

I grinned. "I said..." I started, fully intending to repeat the insult, but unfortunately Gandalf stepped forward, blocking me from Thorin's icy gaze.

"Naomi," was all the wizard had to say, placing his hand up to shush me, warning me to be quiet. I was never one to do as I was told, and the words "you can't tell me what to do," were forming on my lips. But I stayed quiet and took a deep breath, knowing that I had to keep some sort of control.

I glared at the wizard instead. "What? I was only joking," I said, trying to diffuse the tension that had suddenly enveloped the hallway. No longer were there a dozen dwarves looking at me with confused expressions; no, now they were all glaring angrily at me. I wasn't too sure if that was an improvement or not. The air was thick as Dwalin, Dori and Fili narrowed their eyes at me, although I could have sworn Kili was desperately trying to hide an amused smirk.

"Who is this?" Thorin asked Gandalf, the contempt obvious in his voice as he gestured offhandedly in my direction. There were a few murmurs from the rest of the dwarves, who had only gotten a glimpse of me since they arrived.

I peered around Gandalf, who was still stood in between Thorin and I, partially blocking my view of the dwarf. "My name is Naomi," I answered before the wizard could speak.

"What is she doing here?" Thorin asked, still ignoring me. I swallowed hard, the irritation flaring inside of me. I didn't like being ignored. I didn't like the fact that Gandalf was expected to talk for me, as if I didn't have my own mind.

Again, I managed to open my mouth before the wizard could think of an answer. "Yeah, Gandalf," I said, turning my attention away from the dwarf, "what exactly am I doing here again?" My tone, although cheerful enough, had an edge of venom to it. Thorin momentarily glanced in my direction, a look of surprise quickly wiped from his face as he noticed my eyes on him.

"Why is she here?" Thorin repeated, his words slow and clear, as he looked back at the wizard.

Of course, Gandalf didn't look flustered, despite the fact that he had Thorin, Bilbo - who was still displeased with the wizard for bringing so many dwarves into his home - and myself glaring at him. Anyone else would cower away, but Gandalf was in his element. "Miss Naomi is accompanying us one our journey."

"You told me you wanted a burglar," Thorin hissed, hands clenched in a fist as he gave the wizard a look that would make any other man flinch, "You said nothing about bringing along some trollop."

"Did you just call me a prostitute?" I asked, slightly put out by his comment. Sure, it probably wasn't the sensible thing to get hung up about; but I looked classy, not trashy. Of course, Thorin ignored me. Again. I sighed, fed up that I was being treated like Claude Rains, the Invisible Man.

"She is not coming," Thorin said, a hint of finality to his words, ending the conversation.

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit**


	7. Chapter 7

There was a lot of shouting, mainly from Thorin, as Gandalf tried to explain why I was crucial to the Company. Of course, Thorin hadn't liked that one bit and began ranting about the wilderness being no place for a woman.

I got bored pretty quickly and walked out, not that I think anyone other than Bilbo noticed my absence. I sat outside on Bilbo's bench, trying not the retch at the saccharine stench coming from the mass of flowers in the hobbit's garden.

It was a nice enough night; the sky clear and the moon shining ostentatiously bright. But still, I shivered. I pulled the sleeves of my jumper down, stretching the material so that it covered my hands. I suppose I could have ventured back inside to fetch my coat, which I had left draped on the bed in Bilbo's spare bedroom, but I could still here the muffled shouts of the dwarves, who all seemed to be protesting about my company.

_God_, I thought darkly to myself, _it's nice to be loved_. I sat in silence for a while, glaring at the moon. It was stupid, but I felt angry towards it. My head was feeling so messed up and confused, and I was lost and alone, and all the moon could do was shine brightly down on me. It was annoying like hell. I had done a psychology module in my first year, so of course I knew I was projecting my annoyance towards Gandalf and Thorin onto an inanimate object, but that didn't stop the surge of fury sweeping through my body.

The front door opened, and I turned, completely asking to see the hobbit. My heart dropped slightly when I realised it wasn't Bilbo, but Fili and Kili.

I raised my eyebrows at them, silently asking them what they wanted, but they either weren't aware of normal social cues, or just ignored me. Fili kept standing, his form rigid as he leant on the doorframe. Obviously my earlier comment regarding his uncle hadn't earned me any favours with the Durin heir, because despite the fact I was unarmed - and the fact I didn't even know how to wield a weapon - Fili kept a steady hand on the scabbard of his sword.

Kili, on the other hand, smiled brightly at me and trod past me, crushing some of Bilbo's flowers underfoot, before plopping himself down on the bench next to me. I couldn't be bothered to start a conversation, so I stayed silent, still staring at the moon and trying my hardest to ignore the dwarves on either side of me.

Eventually, Kili spoke up. "Lovely night, isn't it?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes, unable to believe that I was about to endure some tedious small talk with a dwarf. "No, not really," I answered, my eyes still trained on the moon.

Kili shifted beside me, moving his body so that his was facing me entirely. "Why do you say that?" he asked, eyes full of curiosity. "It's wonderful here; the hills and the fields and the trees. It's nature at its finest. It's beautiful."

I pulled a face at his words. I swear, if he was going to start writing poetry about the landscape, I was going to strangle him. "Is it? I'm not really one for nature. More of an inside type of girl, you know?" I answered, telling the truth. Even though I had grown up in rural North Yorkshire, I hated wildlife. That's why I loved living in a city; you didn't get wildlife in central London. It was such contrast to my childhood, which was spent being surrounded by an endless amount of green. Nature was isolating, and although I despised most people, I'd rather be surrounded by people I hated than be left on my own.

Finally, Fili spoke up. "If you detest nature so much, then why are you coming on this quest with us?" he asked, peering down at me.

I laughed, although there was no humour in my voice. "Who says I'm willingly coming on this quest?" I replied, tearing my eyes away from the moon and looking at him instead.

To my surprise, he just nodded and gave me a small smile, moving his hand away from his sword, as he made to sit down on the other side of me. I frowned, not sure why my words made him trust me, but apparently there must have been some sort of honesty in my voice.

"I don't think I've seen anyone speak to Uncle like that before," Kili said, still smiling cheerfully at me.

I turned to face him, trying not to think about the fact that in a few months time, that happy smiling face would be...well, dead. "And?" I asked, trying to get rid of the image of Kili's rotting corpse from my mind.

"It was quite refreshing," the younger Durin heir admitted, his smile getting even bigger, practically bouncing in his seat from amusement.

"Quite," his brother agreed, surprising me somewhat. "Although I don't suggest you try it again," he added, the warning clear in his voice. "The only reason why Thorin didn't explode is because he was so shocked."

I shrugged, "Sorry, but I don't I can do that."

"Yeah," Kili said, "we've noticed that you're a bit..." he trailed off, inching forward so he could gaze past me and at his brother, both dwarves trying to think of the right word to describe me.

There was silence. Fili opened his mouth, but the words died on his lips; obviously whatever word he had thought of was too offensive to say out loud. I sighed, rolling my eyes. Strangely enough, this was a situation I had often found myself in - although be it without dwarves involved. "Blunt? Brash? Bitchy?" I offered.

At least both brothers had the decency to look sheepishly at me as I listed off words. "Forward," Kili finally settled with. I nodded; it was actually one of the nicer things I had been called.

The front door opened once again, this time revealing Balin. "You laddies better be getting inside," he said, peering out of Bilbo's threshold. "Thorin's about to start a meeting." Simultaneously, with movements which would have made synchronised jealous, the brothers stood up and made their way to the door. "And I suppose," Balin carried on to say, regarding me carefully, "you should come as well, lass."

I raised my eyebrows, surprised that I was being summoned, but got up nonetheless, dutifully following the brothers inside. As they made their way to the dining room, an arm stretched out, stopping me in my tracks. My eyes ran up the length of the arm, finally resting on the face of Gandalf.

"What now?" I asked, not bothering to mask the impatience in my voice.

"I think I have finally convinced Thorin to allow you to join his company," Gandalf told me. It surprised me, to be honest, because I thought the dwarf king would have put up much more of a fight. But then again, I guessed that he was desperate, and desperate times apparently means letting random, strange girls come on your quest.

"That said," Gandalf continued, his voice suddenly stern, "I think it best if you keep quiet and try not to antagonise our leader."

I huffed, but nodded, even throwing in a mime of me zipping my lips shut and throwing away the key. Obviously my miming skills needed improvement, because Gandalf burrowed his forehead in confusion at me. "I'll try and be quiet, okay?" I said, telling the truth. In all honesty, I was completely quiet. I needed some goddamn sleep. Any qualms could be argued out tomorrow. All I wanted right now was my beauty sleep.

Gandalf must have believed me, because he moved his arm and let me past. I started to walk again, moving past Thorin and Dwalin who both eyed me up coldly, only to be stopped once more, this time by Bilbo.

"Yes?" I asked, irritated at the fact that I couldn't even sit down without being accosted.

Bilbo just smiled warmly at me, passing me a plate of bread. "It's not much," he said, glaring at the dwarves who had nearly eaten him out of house and home, "But I thought you might be hungry." I nodded, and took the plate, feeling slightly mean that I had snapped at him.

"Thanks," I said, peering at the plate. Bilbo was right; it wasn't much. Half a loaf of bread and some cheese. But there seemed to be nothing else offered to me, despite the fact that Thorin seemed to have a bowl of stew in front of him, but I refused to go begging to the dwarves for food.

I found a seat at the end of the table, and began to eat my measly meal. I ignored the cheese and tore the bread into chunks, taking small bites. I wasn't particularly hungry, despite the fact I hadn't eaten since breakfast. I only half listened to Thorin tell the others about his disappointing trip to the dwarves of the Iron Hills, concentrating more on my bites of food than his words.

Then they started discussing maps and keys and other boring crap. My interest was only piqued when Kili piped up that "Gandalf will have killed hundreds of dragons in his time!" and some other dwarf asked how many. I smirked, noticing the wizard falter for the first time.

A raucous din erupted as the dwarves all decided to talk at once. The room was only silenced when Thorin yelled "Enough!" Instantly, the room was quiet. "Rumours have begun to spread, The dragon Smaug has not been seen in many years... Perhaps the vast wealth of our people lies unprotected... perhaps it is time to take back Erebor!"

"If there's a key then there must be a door," Fili said, causing me to roll my eyes at his obvious words.

"That's why we need a burglar!" Ori cried out.

Bilbo had been lurking at the head of the table, staying quiet for most of the conversation. "Hmmm, and I good one too I would say. An Expert," he noted. I shook my head slightly, unable to believe that the hobbit was completely unaware of how this conversation was going to end.

"And are you?" Gloin enquiried

Bilbo frowned, casting a confused look round the room. "Am I what?

"He said he's an expert!" One of the dwarfs cried out.

Bilbo looked positively affronted. "No. No, I'm not."

"I have to agree with Master Baggins. He is hardly burglar material," Balin said.

Gandalf shook his head, glaring down at the dwarves. "If I say Bilbo is a burglar, then Bilbo is a burglar," he said, his voice steady and loud.

"And the girl?" Dwalin asked, giving me a dirty look. I sighed, pushing my empty plate away. I knew it was only a matter of time before the conversation made its way back to me, but a part of me had hoped that when Gandalf had said he had sorted it, that he had actually managed to sort it. Not put it off, which was what it was actually looking like.

"I assure you, Miss Ainsley has her uses," Gandalf replied.

The dwarves all looked unconvinced. It was only Thorin, who was glaring down at the table, who had an emotionless face about the matter. "Like what?" Oin asked.

I lifted my head, looking up at the wizard and wondering what weird and wonderful excuse he could come up. Gandalf looked completely calm, even smiling brightly, as if he was about to pull out his trump card. "She is gifted with a rare talent. Miss Ainsley has the power of foresight," he said, tone confident.

_Well shit_, I thought to myself, as every dwarf - even Thorin - turned to face me, _that's news to me_.

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit**

**Shishi: Hi there! Again, I totally agree with everything you're saying. I'm currently writing Chapter Ten, and I am trying desperately to take note of your criticism and explain why some of her actions. The only problem with this is that with the story being written in 1st person, to explain everything straight away would be a little strange, because characters have to be introduced over chapters, not paragraphs. If I had included her entire history in the first page I think that people would be 'Argh! Information overload' but maybe that's just my opinion. But I promise, I am trying to include bits that will hopefully explain things better. And yes, the whole thing with her dad is just her acting bratty and is no excuse for her horrible behaviour (although the more I write her, the more I think she is flawed and misunderstood, rather than plan old horrible...but again, that's just my opinion). The main reason I included that scene was to show how flawed she is and how she can't even keep a proper relationship with her own family. I hope you continue to give me criticism, because I really need it =]**


	8. Chapter 8

So apparently I was psychic. Apparently I was a seer. A sage, wise creature who could guide them on this journey. For the rest of the conversation, I glared silently at the wizard. Gandalf seemed to have no qualms about blatantly lying to the dwarves, although I wasn't surprised. After all, it wasn't him who had to deal with the fallout from his lies. No, it was me who had to deal with the mess.

I suppose his words weren't complete make believe. After all, I knew what happened at the end of the quest, but that was because I could read, not because of some 'gift' that Gandalf was making out that I had. But did Gandalf explain that? No, of course he didn't. I was starting to think that Gandalf's sole purpose for bringing me here was to make my life as difficult as possible.

Then it was time to sign the contracts. Or, it was time for Bilbo to sign his. "I'll have to prepare yours later," Balin told me, as the hobbit scanned the parchment handed to him, his voice getting higher and higher as he got to words such as 'incineration'.

And then he promptly fainted.

Gandalf was the only one to react, pulling the lifeless hobbit to his feet and ungracefully dragging him to an armchair. None of the dwarves got up to help. Thorin even looked put out by the fact that he had just had an unconscious hobbit lying near his feet, peering down at Bilbo with disdain. I huffed in annoyance and stood, my chair scrapping loudly on the flagstones beneath my feet. "I guess I'll go make him some tea," I muttered, though none of the dwarves seemed to be listening to my grumbles.

It took me a while to figure out how to heat the water on the stove - thank god for kettles and instant hot water - and after straining the tea leaves, dropped several sugar lumps into the cup. I carried it through to Bilbo, glaring at the dwarves as I past the dining room. They were all in deep discussion though, their voices resonating through the hobbit hole, ignorant of the fact that Bilbo probably wanted nothing but peace and quiet right now.

The hobbit, although slumped in the armchair, was now awake and being lectured by Gandalf. He looked completely miserable, and I actually felt sorry for him. Sure, I had just had one hell of a crappy day, but so had Bilbo. Both our lives had been turned upside down, and it was all because of one meddling wizard.

I coughed, interrupting Gandalf's lecture. Bilbo blinked, slightly surprised, as I passed him the cup. "Here," I said, "I hope you're feeling better."

"Thanks," he managed to sputter out, probably confused as why I was being nice. After all, I had been nothing but rude all day, but I had finally figured that if I was going to survive going on this journey without losing my mind, I needed at least one ally. And sure, Bilbo was kind of on the pathetic side of things, but he was also cute and he amused me.

I gave him a quick smile. "No problem. I'll leave you to it," I said, wandering back into the hallway. I paused, unsure where to go. Bilbo and Gandalf was obviously having a moment, and I highly doubted that the dwarves would be too pleased if I went back into the dining room and interrupted their discussions.

I sighed, and opened the front door, shutting it quietly behind me and sitting on the bench again. I'm not sure how long I sat outside, but eventually the dwarves moved into the sitting room and begun to sing once more. I rolled my eyes, listening to the tune as it filtered through the slightly open window, trying not to focus on the fact that it was Thorin singing.

God, I thought to myself. What was with all this singing? My mind flooded back to memories of being forced into the school musical of _Joseph_ and hating every minute of it. I had been cast as the lead - as Joseph. It wasn't that I had gone to some open-minded, forward thinking school. No, it was because we had a lack of boys to pick from and with my tanned skin, I guess I was the only one who could have passed as being Middle-Eastern. It was weird; I should have loved being on stage, being the centre of attention. But I had hated every minute of it. The only saving grace of the entire situation was the fact that my Dad had left work early and travelled by train back home to see me perform, although I had later found out it was only because my mother had managed to drink herself into a state and couldn't make it.

Luckily, Gandalf appeared at the doorway. I eyed him up cautiously. "So, you didn't think to forewarn me about the stunt you pulled back there?" I asked, shuffling to the far edge of the bench so Gandalf could sit down beside me.

He sat down beside me, leaving the door open. "What stunt?" he asked, his face full of innocence and lies.

"Oh, I don't know. How about the fact that I'm apparently psychic?" I said pointedly, my voice loud against the silent night.

Gandalf turned, glancing behind my head to the window above, eyeing the glass that separated us from the dwarves. The dwarves were still singing though, so I didn't worry about them hearing my words. "Hush," he said, quietening me. "It was not a lie," he told me.

"It wasn't exactly the truth either," I retorted, but this time I made sure to speak is hushed tones.

"Perhaps, but the dwarves don't need to know that," he replied, winking at me. I sighed and shook my head, not liking the fact that it seemed like the only reason I was being allowed on this trip was because of a lie.

"I haven't even decided whether I'm going with you yet," I pointed out. And I really wasn't sure. This whole situation was surreal. It was entirely foreign. I would have no control and I didn't like the thought of that one bit. Plus there was the fact that even if I did go with them, I wouldn't know how to stop Thorin and his nephews dying. I was nothing more than a 24 year old girl who liked to think she was a lot more witty than I actually was.

Gandalf looked at me. "Give me one good reason why you don't want to go on this quest?"

"Easy," I replied, smiling smugly, and forcing a snarky tone. "Because you kidnapped me." The wizard just shot me a dirty look. "What?" I asked, wiping the grin off my face and replacing it with a look of innocence, "I may have accepted the fact I'm stuck in Middle Earth, but that doesn't mean I'm happy about it."

"It'll do you good. It'll do both you and Bilbo good," the wizard responded. I just shrugged, noticing that the dwarves had finally stopped singing. It meant that we were totally surrounded by silence. "You will both learn from this experience. Bilbo will gain some courage, and you, my dear, will hopefully gain some compassion. I'm not sure what life has done to you to make you so cynical, but it's not right, not in a girl so young as you are."

I laughed, but without mirth. Life hadn't done anything to make me the way I was. I was well aware of my faults. I was well aware that I needed to change. Only, I couldn't. I had tried in the past, but I just couldn't. And then there was a part of me that wondered why I should change at all. Who had decided that I wasn't worthy? Who had decided that I wasn't perfect and needed to be upgraded to a newer, nicer model?

"Right," I said, trying to keep my voice level and pretend like Gandalf's words hadn't affected me at all, "because I'm the Tin Man. I need a heart. And I guess that makes Bilbo the Cowardly Lion."

Of course, Gandalf didn't understand my reference, but I knew he wouldn't. "But why?" I asked him. "Why do I need to change?"

Gandalf just regarded me carefully, a sad smile on his face. He opened his mouth to answer me, but closed it again, frowning. "Eaves dropping, Thorin Oakenshield?" he asked, turning away from me and glancing to the door.

I followed his gaze, sitting up straight as I saw the dwarf lurking by the doorway. I cursed inwardly, scowling at the fact that Thorin had been listening in to the conversation I was having with Gandalf.

Thorin shook his head, but it was obvious to all that he was lying. I clenched my jaw, silently fuming that I had been caught out having a rare moment of weakness. "No, I just wanted to speak to Miss Ainsley," Thorin said, stepping out of the door. "Alone," he added, staring at Gandalf.

I closed my eyes momentarily, suddenly feeling extremely tired and wanting nothing more than to curl into bed, go to sleep, and wake up to find that this had all been one hell of a dream.

"Of course," Gandalf said, standing up, giving me one last smile before stepping inside. I watched his back retreat, glancing quickly at Thorin. He looked piss. I sighed, and tore my eyes away from him as I noticed him staring back at me; his blue eyes intent and full of distrust.

"Speak away," I told him, not bothering to look at him. Instead, I just stared glumly at my boots, bracing myself for the lecture I knew was coming.

"I want you to know that I will not allow some _child_," Thorin said, practically spitting out the last word in disgust, "get in the way of this quest. You are only coming because the wizard demands it. If it were up to me, you would not be joining this company. You are nothing but a liability. You have no place with us," he informed me. I could still feel his heavy gaze; feel his eyes boring into me.

I shook my head and tried to keep the emotions off of my face, desperately trying to find a snarky comment. "If this is the welcoming committee, then it sucks," I said, still staring at the ground.

Thorin scoffed. "Wit will not protect you. And neither will the dwarves. Our goal is to take back Erebor. If that means sacrificing some measly girl, then so be it."

I heard him move towards the door. "I get it," I said, my tone actually sincere for once, as I finally looked up at the dwarf, "I really do. There's no place like home," and it was true. I had only been away from my flat - my nice and homely flat - for a day, and I was missing it already. Thorin turned back around, blinking at me, surprised by my soft words.

There seemed to be a flash of pity appear in his eyes. As soon as I saw the hard lines in his face disappear, I stopped feeling sorry for myself. I didn't need his pity. I didn't need to be viewed as some weak, emotional girl. That wasn't me; I refused to be that person. The events of the day were clearly taking its toll on me. It was the only reason why I was acting so soppy.

I swallowed hard and stood up, trying to think of something clever to say. I'd rather Thorin was mad at me, than pity me. "Better get your ruby slippers on, Dorothy," was all I managed to think of in my tired and hazy state. But my words were said with as much mockery as I could muster, so it was clear to the dwarf that I was insulting him, even though my words weren't exactly harsh. I smirked at him as I sashayed past, my shoulder brushing his as I pushed past and through the door.

I left him standing confused in the doorway, probably desperately trying to understand my insult, and waltzed into the spare bedroom, slamming the door shut. I could only hope that tomorrow would be less eventful, but somehow I really doubted that.

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit**

**Author's Note: Thank you to all the lovely people who have taken the time to review. It really means a lot to me.**


	9. Chapter 9

I was awoken by the sound of "Get up!" accompanied by banging on the door. Well, I say awoken, but I had barely slept all night. I had spent most of the night tossing and turning, my head spinning as I tried to understand how I was supposed to save the Durin line. Sure, I had quick wit and a poisonous tongue, but other than that, I had no skills. I had no hope. And when I had managed to get some sleep, it had been plagued with images of violence and war and severed limbs. And the faces of Thorin, Fili and Kili. All of them, lying dead on the ground.

I managed to drag myself up and change quickly. I washed my face, the cool water helping to fight off some of the tiredness haunting me, and put my hair up in a bun, before shuffling out of the room and down the corridor to the kitchen. Of course, it was over spilling with dwarves, but there was no sign of Bilbo, or Gandalf, or Thorin and Balin.

"Coffee," I mumbled, holding out my hand and hoping someone would place a mug in it. Surprising, it worked. Through my tired haze, I didn't notice which dwarf offered me the mug, but I took it, downing the tepid liquid in only a couple of mouthfuls.

It wasn't enough to wake me up, so I pushed my way through the crowd of dwarves, mumbling 'excuse me' as I went, before I got to the stove. I boiled some more water, poured it in my cup, and after searching through three of Bilbo's cabinets, finally found his stash of coffee.

Finally happy that I had a hot drink, I made my way to the table, sitting down at the only available seat at the end, next to Ori and opposite Fili and Kili. "Good morning," Kili said to me, smiling brightly.

I grimaced, hating the fact that every single dwarf seemed to be wide awake and cheerful. "Morning," I replied back, sullenly. I peered through the window, hissing at the fact that the moon was still up, hovering low in the sky. I was not really a morning person - hell, I wasn't even a _person _person, but my moods tended to be a lot fouler before I had at least three cups of caffeine in my system.

"Eat this," a gruff voice said. I looked up, watching with a confused expression as Dwalin placed a pile of pancakes in front of me. I eyed them up, trying my hardest not to count the calories in the massive pile of food.

I tried to push the plate away. "I'm not really hungry," I explained, but apparently Dwalin was having none of it, because he just pushed it back at me.

"You barely ate anything last night, Lass," he told me. I frowned, not liking the fact that despite the fact the dwarves seemed to be ignoring me, they were obviously keeping close tabs on me. Was I really that untrustworthy?

"There wasn't exactly much left on the menu after you guys had eaten," I pointed out, not bothering to pick up the knife and fork that had been thrown at me.

"Eat," Dwalin commanded.

"I didn't realise you cared so much about my wellbeing," I retorted.

Dwalin didn't look impressed. "I don't. Eat. Don't eat. Do what you want. But remember, if you faint from malnourishment and fall of your pony, I'm not picking you up," he informed me.

I sighed heavily, bored with the argument. Slowly, I picked up the cutlery and began cutting up small bites. I put placed a bit of pancake on the edge of my fork, staring at Dwalin as I ate it. "Happy?" I asked. Dwalin didn't bother replying to me. Instead, he turned his attention to the rest of the dwarves.

"We leave at dawn," he informed them, because stalking off somewhere. Fili and Kili also stood, following him out; probably to prepare the ponies.

I ate my breakfast in silence, staring glumly at my plate. I managed to eat about half of the stack, before I places my knife and fork down, pushing the plate away. This time, it was replaced by a piece of parchment. I looked up, surprised to see Balin now hovering at my shoulder.

"You'll need to read and sign this," he informed me.

Unable to stifle a yawn, I picked up the feathered quill that had also been placed beside me, signing my name at the bottom of the page. Not having used a quill before, my handwriting looked shaky and childlike compared to Balin's perfect calligraphy, especially after I accidently smudged my surname. "There," I said.

"You probably should have read that," Balin advised, but I shook my head.

"Why?" I asked, glancing up at him. "I mean, I'm already stranded here. What's the worst that could happen to me?"

"How far away from home are you?" a shy voice, belonging to Ori, asked me.

"Very far," I replied dryly. I wasn't sure what Gandalf had told the dwarves, because apparently keeping me in the loop wasn't one of the wizard's top priorities. I didn't know what I was saying was contradicting the wizard's words, but if that was the case, I didn't care. If Gandalf wanted to make up lies about me, then he could. I didn't care. But I refused to play along. "Like, a completely different time and place," I explained.

Though I was talking to Ori, it seemed like I had managed to catch the rest of the dwarves attention. "Where are you from?" Bofur asked.

"Originally, I'm from a place called York," I replied.

"Never heard of it," Gloin commented, and several of the dwarves made a noise of agreement. I rolled my eyes; of course they had never heard of it. What part of 'entirely different place and time' did they not understand?

"_Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son of York_," I said, quoting from Richard III. Of course, the dwarves just stared at me blankly. "It's Shakespeare," I tried to explain, but again, all I got was blank stares. "He's like, a really important playwright."

"Where is it? York?" Ori asked, scribbling furiously on a notebook that he had seemingly made appear out of nowhere. I glanced over his shoulders, realising that he was writing down everything I was saying, even my quote.

"Well..." I said, not really sure how to explain it. Sure, it should have been easy, but I was trying to explain it to _dwarves_. "The world I live in is split into continents. I'm from an island nation called Great Britain which is part of the continent of Europe," I said, glancing at the dwarves to make sure they were following me. They still look confused, but the blank looks had disappeared from their faces, so I took that as being an improvement. I looked at Ori, "Can I?" I asked, nodding towards his paper. He let me have them, and I began to draw a very quick map of the country. "Britain is made up of three countries, Scotland, Wales and England. I'm from England. York is in the north, just about here," I said, circling the area of North Yorkshire. "But when I was 18, I moved to London, which is the capital city." Again, I circled London, passing the map back to Ori, who looked at it, completely enchanted.

"An island?" Balin asked, sounding suitably impressed.

I nodded.

"You've seen the sea?" Bombur said. Again, I nodded in response. I'm pretty sure there would have been more questions, if it wasn't for the fact that Thorin stormed in. His eyed the signed contract in front of me, sneering at it with contempt.

"We're leaving. Now," he said, rousing the other dwarves, who instantly started to tidy up and collect their things.

"I'll go get my things," I muttered to no one in particular, getting up from my chair and leaving the room before someone asked me to do the washing up. I strolled past Thorin, well aware that he was glaring at me, and strutted into the room I had started to refer to as belonging to me, despite the fact that I had only stayed there own night.

And then I proceeded to shriek. "What the hell, Gandalf?" I managed to sputter out, my voice going a couple of octaves higher than usual. I definitely hadn't expected to find the wizard creeping in my bedroom, so his tall figure lurking in the corner of the room took me by surprise. Behind me, I could hear the dwarves pause and look out towards the hallway, wondering what the commotion was about.

"Skittish this morning?" Gandalf asked, stepping forward, out of the shadows that still loitered. I glared out of the window; despite the fact Dwalin had said we were leaving at sunrise, the sun hadn't made an appearance yet.

"Tired," I answered, shutting the door. As I had expected, several of the dwarves, including Thorin, I noted, were watching me. I scowled, settled my face and took a deep breath. "What do you want?"

"I thought you might need some help packing."

I narrowed my eyes, but nodded. Picking up the pile of my belongings that I had thrown from the bed to the floor last night, I shoved them into my suitcase. "Packed," I said, squashing everything down to make some more space. I opened up my handbag and poured the contents into the larger bag, before zipping it shut, before throwing the now empty handbag under Bilbo's spare bed. I frowned, lamenting over the fact that my wardrobe now only comprised solely of some jumpers and some leggings. Sure, they were nice. I wouldn't have bought them otherwise. But that didn't mean my heart didn't start to bleed at the fact that I wouldn't be wearing my very nice, very expensive Brunello Cucinelli white dress any time soon.

"Do you think it is wise to take all that with you?" Gandalf asked, frowning at my belongings. I mirrored his gaze, glancing at my hold-all, my heart dropping as I realised that all of the possessions I now owned could fit into one measly bag.

"Yeah," I answered. "What else am I supposed to do with it?"

Gandalf said nothing, but picked up my phone which was laying on the bedside table. "I could keep some of it safe, if you like?" Gandalf said, moving the phone from hand to hand. "It could get lost, or broken, or worse...the dwarves could find it and start asking questions."

I sighed and stepped towards Gandalf, snatching the phone out of his hands and cradling it protectively in my own. "No," I told him, voice firm. There was no way I was going to let some daft old wizard take away the last few things I had to remind me of home. "No. Just no. It stays with me. All of it stays with me," I hissed, stuffing my phone into my hold-all and clasping it shut. I bent down, kneeling on the floor and began fiddling with the straps to my bag, making sure it was the right length to sit on my shoulder and cross over my body.

I swore that I wouldn't be separated from my things. A few changes of clothes, my makeup, my toiletries, a hair brush, two packets of chewing gum and half a pack of Tic Tacs, a lighter and a phone that didn't work. That was all I had left. That was my entire life, stuffed into a bag.

I sighed and stood up. Outside, I could hear the dwarves collating in the hallway. "Come on," I said, giving the wizard a pointed look as I bent down and picked up my bag, balancing it on my shoulder, "we've got an adventure to go on!" My cheerful voice was forced, but Gandalf just nodded and followed me out into the hallway.

_Well_, I thought to myself, _here goes nothing_.

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

**Author's Note 1: If anyone was wondering, not that I think you will be, all clothes mentioned in the story are clothes that I would love to own. Unfortunately, I'm a poor graduate who cannot afford designer dresses and coats.**


	10. Chapter 10

For such an important quest, the start of our journey was very uneventful, and I have to admit, a little disappointing. The ponies were divided up between us and then we were off. Luckily for me, Gandalf decided to ride up front with a certain dwarf who, when not pretending to ignore me, was glaring at. _Good_, I thought to myself, because I didn't fancy having to talk to either of them.

I had had riding lessons between the ages of six and eleven, and like riding a bike, it all came back to me...eventually. I was slow and clumsy with the pony, which meant that I was riding at the back of the group, but I had Ori and Fili and Kili for company, and out of all the dwarves, those three seemed to annoy me the least.

"You didn't mention you could see into the future," Kili said, riding beside me and giving me a massive grin.

I wanted to deny it, still feeling uneasy about such a blatant lie, but instead I just nodded and forced a smile. Although Ori looked like he believed me - hell, he looked so naive that he would probably believe unicorns existed if I told him that they did - the brothers looked a little bit more unsure. I couldn't blame them really, because Gandalf was talking utter bollocks. "Prove it," Fili said, confirming my thoughts.

"Fine," I said, glancing ahead of me and at the ten dwarves riding in front. "How'd do fancy making some money?" I asked, giving him a sly smile as the cogs started to work in my brain

In hushed tones, I explained my plan. It was foolproof. All we needed to do was set a trap and everything would work out from there. I hadn't banked on Kili's lack of acting skills though. After I had finished my explanation, informing the three dwarves that Bilbo would shortly be joining us, Kili rode up to the front of the Company, and asked, rather woodenly as he tried to remember the exact words I had told him, "Gandalf, will Bilbo be joining us on this journey?" he said, in a loud voice that caused me to wince.

I watched him awkwardly do some weird hand movement and sighed heavily. Fili, who was watching his brother with amusement, gave me a smirk. "He's not a natural liar, is he?" I commented.

"No," his brother replied, "but I don't think that's such a bad thing."

"Of course Bilbo Baggins will be joining us," Gandalf replied, causing the younger dwarf to look towards me and give me a not so subtle wink. Of course, Thorin had to notice this, frowning at his nephew's weird behaviour. I glanced away, pretending to be more interested in the scenery we were passing than the conversation happening up front.

Luckily, my plan was working. I knew the dwarves would bet on Bilbo, so it didn't take much more than a small push to hurry it all along. "I wouldn't bet on it," Dwalin called out, and, as if by magic, the dwarves started to make bets, just like I had known they would.

The only dwarf who didn't, was Thorin. Once again, he was watching me, but at least his glance was more of a querying one, as opposed to the glares I had become accustomed to in the twelve hours I had known he. Eventually, he turned to Balin, who was collecting the money for the bet. He sighed heavily, before saying, with one last quick glance at me, which I pretended to ignore by studying my nails, "Aye, I'll bet on the hobbit coming."

I blinked, surprised. It was obvious that he had figured out I had orchestrated the whole thing. Out of all the dwarves, I hadn't thought Thorin would believe the nonsense about me being psychic. But then again, Gandalf had also said that Bilbo would come, so maybe the dwarf believed in the wizard more than he believed in me.

For the next half hour, we rode on, quietly chatting to ourselves. Every now and again Ori would pipe up with, "Excuse me, Miss Naomi, but can I ask a question?" and I would bite back a 'no' and nod instead and try to answer whatever question he asked. Only, my answers only provoked more questions. Turns out, dwarves don't know much about 21st century western society, so everything I said was met with confused, glassy looks and I would then have to explain my answer to them. In the end, I gave up. Instead of struggling to explain the workings of electricity, or modern warfare, or politics, or my job or the Master's degree I was desperately trying to study for, I answered everything with the same two words. "It's magic," I would say, shrugging. And the dwarves who were listening in - which was most of them - would go "ah," and nod sagely. Because apparently magic was easier to understand than my explanation of wifi.

After a while, Fili glanced at me. "I thought you said you were psychic," he grumbled, referring to the fact that Bilbo had yet to turn up yet.

I just shrugged. "Patience is a virtue," I answered, my tone sweet yet mocking. He huffed, and turned his attention back to his brother, who was talking animatedly about something or other.

It was another twenty minutes before Bilbo finally decided to turn up. He came running after us, contract flapping in the wind as he called for us to halt. "Wait!" he exclaimed, panting ever so slightly from his run. "I signed it! I signed it!"

Balin took the contract from him and gave it a quick look over. "Everything seems to be in order," he said, mainly to Thorin, who despite betting on the hobbit to turn up, didn't look too impressed by Bilbo's sudden arrival.

"Get him a pony," Thorin said gruffly, a look of alarm appearing on Bilbo's face as Fili and Kili hoisted him up onto a spare horse. He tried to complain, tried to say that he could walk, but everyone ignored him.

"Does that answer your question?" I asked Fili pointedly, after the money from the bet had been distributed.

"What question?" Bilbo asked, having made his way to the back of the Company, mainly because his pony had the habit of stopping sudden. Bilbo looked bewildered, tugging the reins to the animal here, there and everywhere, and I felt sorry for the confused animal, who had no idea what it was supposed to be doing.

"Nothing," I said, noting the tight grip the hobbit had on the reins. I sighed, realising that no one was going to help him learn to ride. "Loosen your grip," I advised him, knowing that if I didn't deal with his crappy riding skills now, we'd never make it to the Lonely Mountain in time for Durin's Day. "And stop yanking. You've got to be gentle with her."

Maybe it was my harsh tone, or maybe it was because Bilbo realised that no one other than me was going to help him, but he dutifully did as I instructed. "You've ridden before?" he asked, a look of mild surprise appearing on his face as the pony stopped jerking so much now that he had altered his position.

"Yeah. I had lessons when I was a kid," I replied.

"Excuse me, Miss Naomi?"

I didn't even have to glance at Ori to know it was him calling my name. "Yes?" I asked, trying to keep calm. I felt like some sort of attraction - an animal in a zoo - the way Ori was questioning me and making notes about me. I knew it wasn't malicious. He was curious, was all. But that didn't make it annoying, having to play twenty questions with dwarves who did not understand anything about my world. It was a miracle that we could even communicate. That said, I did notice the dwarves from at some of my more colourful colloquialisms.

"What was your childhood like?"

I shrugged. "Alright, I guess," I said, hoping that would be enough of an answer. I hated talking about myself. For such a selfish, narcissistic person, I hated reliving my past. I mean, it was nothing bad. Nothing tragic ever happened to me. But it was my personal history. It belonged to me and I didn't want to share it.

Unfortunately, Bofur was also eavesdropping on our conversation, and my crappy answer obviously wasn't enough for him. "Like how?" he asked. I wanted to tell him to mind his own business, but I managed to keep my lips sealed. After all, I could understand their curiosity. I was nothing they had ever met before, so it was understandable that they wanted to know more about it. The only thing was, I wasn't used to this sort of attention.

"Well, it was just average. I had two parents. Unhappily married. I went to school. The end," I said.

"You're parents were unhappy? Why? Marriage is supposed to be based on love," Kili commented.

I shrugged. "In my world, it's a little different. My parents only married because it was convenient and because they were desperately trying to make the maths add up," I said, but the dwarves looked confused. I sighed, "I happened to be born five months after my parents married," I explained. Dori looked absolutely scandalised at the fact I was a bastard child, and he glared at me, as if it was my fault my parents practised sex before marriage. Sure, I was also a practitioner of that school of thought, but I didn't think it would be wise to admit it.

"They got on alright, to begin with, when we still lived in York. I mean, they barely spent time together, but that meant they couldn't argue. My dad was a lawyer and had offices in London. My mum had to drop out of university to have me, and I think she never got over the fact that my dad had a life and she didn't. Plus, she was kind of bitter that my dad was spending his life down in London, with all of his other 'special' female friends," I explained, not really sure why I was going into this much detail. I had never really spoken to anyone about this; not even the child psychologist my dad forced me to see when he realised I wasn't playing nicely with the other kids at school. He wanted a reason, an explanation to why I couldn't be nice and kind. Turned out there was no reason, other than the fact that I'm a horrible human being. I hadn't told the psychologist any of this though, because she wasn't really interested. The only thing she was interested in was the massive pay check my dad was going to give her.

"Then we moved out of the city and into this horrible, little cottage in the middle of nowhere. And my mum grew more bitter and every time my dad came home they would argue and fight and smash up half of the kitchen. And of course, because we lived in the middle of nowhere, they couldn't send me out to play with my friends because I didn't have any. I mean, it's hard to make friends when the only thing around you is valleys and sheep. So I'd sit in my room and try to ignore the fact that they were arguing all the time. I think we were all glad when they finally got a divorce," I said, trying to focus on steering my pony than the fact that I had a whole lot of dwarves staring at me. Even Gandalf, Thorin, Balin and Dwalin, who had been ignoring me for most of the journey, had slowed down to listen

"What? I hope someone defended your Mother's honour," Dwalin said, sounding shocked. I didn't understand why though. I mean, I knew a load of people whose parents had gone through messy divorces. It wasn't tragic. It didn't make me special in anyway. It was just life. It was the way things were.

I just laughed, though it sounded more like a harsh bark. "Not really. I mean, you've not met my mum. Where do you think I get my sunny disposition from?" I asked, self deprecating myself. "I honestly can't blame my dad for wanting out. After he moved out, living with her was nightmare. As soon as I could, I moved out. And then she decided to immigrate back to France and I haven't seen her since," I explained, shrugging my shoulders in a nonchalant matter. I wanted them to know that I wasn't bothered by it. And I wasn't. The only thing I was bothered with was the pitying looks I was currently receiving.

"That's horrible," Kili commented, looking crestfallen at my apparently tragic back-story.

"No, it's not. It's life. It happens to loads of people. And anyway, we've all moved on from it and we're all a lot happier from it. My dad actually found someone he loves and married her, and they've got a kid together, my mum is happier, I guess. And so am I. We all lived happily ever after. The end," I said, finishing the conversation.

"But-" Ori started to say, but I whipped my head around and glared at him.

"The end," I repeated, my words firm but harsh. The dwarves were still giving me pitying looks, and it angered me. I didn't need their pity. I didn't deserve their pity. I was fine. I was better than fine. I was awesome. Completely and utterly awesome. And anyway, who were they to pity me? They were nothing more than a bunch of homeless dwarves who were stupid enough to go on some whacked out suicidal mission. If anyone needed pitying, it was them. Thorin was desperate and pathetic and I was so much better than he was.

I racked my brain, trying to think of an insult. I needed to stop them looking at me like I was some weak and feeble creature. "Seriously, it's not like half my family went mad because of some gold or anything like that," I said, my tone biting. My poisonous words managed to do the trick, because the pitying looks turned to angry ones.

I glanced down, chewing the inside of my mouth. Apart from the rhythmic beat of the ponies hooves, there was no sound. Just silence. And a hell of a lot of tension. Fili was given me a dirty look, kicking his pony to quicken its pace and move to the front of the Company. Kili followed, and then Ori. Even Bilbo looked like he wanted to move away from me, but couldn't, because he could barely control his animal.

I cursed inwardly. It had only taken me a day, but I had already managed to screw things up.

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit**


	11. Chapter 11

As expected, for the rest of the travelling day, I was glared at and ignored, and generally treated like the unwanted guest that I was. I knew I was in the wrong. I knew that my comment had been uncalled for an unfair. Despite that, there was a small part of me that wanted to justify it by claiming that Thorin was a big boy who could handle one measly remark. Sure, it had been a cruel one, but I was pretty sure he'd get over it. Eventually. At least, I hoped so. Even though I desperately wanted to listen to that voice, I couldn't. I actually felt bad for what I said, and it wasn't because I was currently sat at the edge of camp, completely by myself.

I stared glumly at the ground; scraping random patterns in the dirt with a stick I had found. I sighed heavily and cursed myself. I always did this. I always had to bite back at people, even though most of the time they didn't deserve it. It was a habit - a horrible one - that I constantly found myself doing. I had been called out on it countless times, mainly by my Dad, but that didn't stop me doing it. Even when Harvey - who wasn't exactly known for being nice - threatened to finish with me if I couldn't keep my poisonous words to myself, I had to open my mouth. Despite the fact that there was nothing worse than being alone, I had to make some snide comment and force him to leave me.

It was because I couldn't deal with people. I couldn't deal with them moseying into my life. I couldn't deal with their questions, or their concern, or their pity. I wasn't used to it. So I pushed them away with snide comment and harsh insults to make sure it never happened again. It was so much easier to act mean and emotionless than have to deal with my issues.

It was the main reason why the only people I counted as being my friends were superficial. It was so much easier to hang out with people who only cared about what you looked like rather than your emotional wellbeing.

Of course, I was also a bitch. There was no denying the fact that sometimes I found pleasure in my malicious words. But this time I wasn't smiling, sitting silently smug at my own wittiness. No. This time, I felt nothing but guilt.

I didn't like it. I wasn't used to it. I tried to find a reason why I suddenly felt guilty, but I couldn't come up with anything. Back home, when I wasn't studying part time for my Master's in Communication - oh, the irony of it - I worked for a PR company, where the main mantra we told our high profile customers who had been caught in the wrong was, 'never say sorry.' Sorry suggested guilt. And guilt suggested culpability. I had given that advice out to numerous people, so why couldn't I heed to it myself?

A cold breeze ran through camp and I shivered, staring longingly at the fire. I supposed I could have moved closer to it and sit with the others, but I knew I wouldn't be welcome there. They'd probably let me sit there, but I doubt they would hide their glares and their sneers. I was left alone, exiled in my own splendid isolation. Only, this time it wasn't as splendid as I had become used to.

I sighed impatiently, knowing exactly what I had to do to make things right. I didn't want to do it, but it would take months to get to Erebor and I wasn't sure if I could handle being ignored and vilified for the rest of the journey. Sure, I might get lucky; I might get eaten by orcs before we made it and put us all out of our misery, but I didn't think that I would end up being that fortunate somehow.

Pulling myself up, I tried to ignore the glowers I was receiving from the dwarves. Instead, I held my head high, though clenched my jaw shut in an attempt to keep quiet and not yell in annoyance at them. Slowly, I meandered my way through the camp, over to where Thorin was sitting with Balin and Dwalin.

Simultaneously, they all glanced up at me, Dwalin's brow furrowing at the fact that I was interrupting whatever they were discussing. Balin quirked an eyebrow up, looking quizzical about my appearance. And Thorin just ignored me, but I didn't care. I tried to focus on the task at hand, but there was a part of me that noticed that I was finally towering over them. Sure, they were sat down whilst I was stood in my heels, but it was always nice to be on higher ground.

"Can I have a word?" I asked, placing my hands in the pockets of my coat; partially because it was cold and partially because I didn't want to start fidgeting and making them think I was nervous. Because I wasn't. I didn't do nerves. Not ever.

Thorin continued to ignore me, but I was kind of expecting it. He hadn't told me to piss off yet though, so I took his silence as permission to speak. "Look," I said, trying to figure out how to word my apology. I was well aware that although I had intended to speak to Thorin privately, the other dwarves were straining to listen in to the conversation, and I really didn't want to mess up once again in front of an audience.

"The thing is, I spent a lot of time alone as a child. Like, 95% of the time. One summer I hung out with him," I said, pointing to the wizard, who was watching me closely, probably hoping that I didn't open my big fat mouth and ruin everything for him, "because I had no better offers. So yeah, I was alone. A lot. And because of that, I didn't exactly learn the proper social skills, so I kind of find it hard to function like a normal human being. I don't tend to play nice with the other kids. Sometimes I say things without thinking about the consequences. Sometimes I think about the consequences but say it anyway, just because I can. But I know it's wrong."

I was rambling. I never rambled. I tried to fight of the blush that was appearing on my cheeks, instead choosing to tap my foot in an attempt to reroute the nervous energy buzzing through my body. I just hoped it looked like I was impatient and bored, and not desperately trying to grasp on to the last bit of power I had. I had to get back on track. I took a gulp of air, pausing momentarily. "I know I was wrong to say what I did about your family. So I'm sorry."

And with that, I turned away and started to make a hasty retreat. There, I had done it. I had apologised. My guilty conscience could be cleared and I could get on with the rest of my life.

Whilst I had been speaking, Thorin had just watched me, blue eyes gazing up at me, with what looked like an amused smirk appearing on the edge of his lips, but I couldn't be sure. "Very well," he called out, causing me to spin around and look at him, slightly surprised that he had deemed me worthy enough to address. "You may go now," he added. I blinked, slightly surprised that apparently I needed to be dismissed by him before I could make me retreat. I just nodded coolly, a part of me wanting to answer back and inform him that he didn't get to tell me what to do and generally have the last word in the whole debacle, but instead I stayed quiet, figuring I had just about managed to dig myself out of the last hole.

Silently, I made my way back to the log I had claimed as my own and sat down, deciding to rummage through my bag for my lip balm in an attempt to look busy. Although I was still being ignored, I was no longer on the receiving end of glares, so I guessed I had been successful in my apology. Maybe finally I had achieved sincerity. That was something my Dad was always telling me. "Can you at least try and act like you mean it?" he would say, mainly after I had told Annie how much I looked forward to spending time with her. My father, unfortunately, was one of the few people who could see past my lies and excuses.

Eventual, Gandalf sauntered over to me. I wasn't impressed, but at least his presence stopped me thinking about my terrible family life. He didn't say anything, just settled down quietly beside me. I could feel a lecture blooming, so opened my mouth before the wizard had chance to speak. "See, I can be nice sometimes," I told him, my tone sarcastic; all traces of sincerity disappearing.

He nodded sagely at my words. "I knew that little girl was still in there, somewhere," he commented.

I scoffed at his words and shook my head. Although it was quite clear that Gandalf liked to pretend he knew me - pretend he understood me - he didn't. He was talking bullshit. The main reason I had apologised was because I wanted an easy life. Sure, I felt bad about Thorin. But I felt worse about me and what would happen if I didn't apologise. That's me alright, one hell of a selfish bitch. "Don't," I told him harshly. "Don't pretend you know me, because you really don't have a clue."

"Is that so?

"Yes," I said to him, firmly. "You think a nice chat and a warm hug will melt my frozen heart, but that's bullshit. I'm not going to magically change because you think I should be nicer. This," I said, gesturing to myself, "is who I am and I'm not going to change the way I act."

Gandalf stayed quiet, which was a bloody miracle. He just nodded and stood up, making his way over to Bombur who was dishing up the night's meal and trying to pretend like he - and the rest of the dwarves - hadn't heard my words. Once Gandalf had his food, he went to sit by Bilbo, leaving me alone once again.

All the dwarves got up to grab a plate, and soon the delightful sounds of them wolfing down medium-rare squirrel could be heard. I grimaced, but didn't move. Sure, I was starting to get a tad bit hungry, but I wasn't exactly sure if the dwarves were going to be feeding me on this journey. Thorin was probably hoping that I would starve to death before we reached the Lonely Mountain.

Instead, I opened my bag and started to rummage through it, grabbing a cereal bar I had shoved in there and eating it, before sorting out my belongings and folding my clothes neatly. Sure, there wasn't really anyone around who could really judge my attire, but that didn't mean I wanted to be walking around the Shire with creases in my clothes.

Eventually, Fili and Kili wandered over to me, the former holding out a plate of squirrel stew. "Bombur says you've got to eat this," he said, trying to pass the dish to me. Bombur had also informed me earlier on in the day that I was too skinny and needed fattening up. In response, I had told him to shut up. That conversation had ended pretty quickly.

I didn't take the bowl though - mainly because I was tired and grumpy and wanted to be a nuisance - so he was forced to put it on the floor next to me feet. The older brother looked like he wanted to move away from me, but Kili sat down next to me, intrigued by my belonging, forcing him to stay put.

"I'll eat in a bit," I said, at least acknowledging the fact that he had bought me food. Fili nodded, and cautiously sat down next to his brother, looking like he wanted to be as far away from me as humanly possible.

I finished folding my clothes, and started to sort through my wash bag. Or, at least I tried to, but Kili snatched it out of me hands. "Oi," I said, but the dwarf just ignored me.

"What's this?" he asked, emptying the entire contents of the bag onto the ground.

"Face wash," I replied, bored. I settled down, realising that I was losing the battle and might as well let Kili do what he wanted. As long as he didn't break anything, I wouldn't break his nose.

"And this?" he said, picking up another bottle.

"Face cream."

"This?"

"Ooh, moisturizer," I said, grabbing the bottle away from him and opening up the cap, before squeezing a dollop into my hand. I started to rub it into my skin, aware that I now had an audience watching me very carefully. I probably looked like an idiot to them, but I wasn't all too fussed. I had been blessed with amazingly smooth skin; I wasn't going to let that gift go to waste just because I happened to be lost in Middle Earth.

"And this?"

"Body butter," I replied, beginning to gather my belonging together now that he had finsihed going through my belonging. I was too busy placing everything back in my bag that I failed to see Kili open the tub and dip his finger in it. I also failed to notice him lick said finger. I only bothered looking up when he proceeded to spit it back out again and started to make a fuss.

"That's disgusting!" he shouted, pulling a face in horror.

I just looked at him, wondering if he had been dropped on the head as a child. "Are you an idiot? It's not edible!" I said, snatching the tub off of him and screwing the lid back one. Seriously? What had Gandalf dragged me into? These dwarves were idiots.

"You said it was butter!" he exclaimed, trying to put the blame on me. Like it was my fault he was an imbecile.

"I said it was body butter! The emphasis is on the word body, because that's where it's supposed to go. Not your bloody mouth," I replied, shaking my head at him and wondering how the hell I was supposed to stop him dying if I couldn't even stop him from eating my skincare range.

Kili continued to pull a face, sticking his tongue out and dry heaving, being a total drama queen about it. I pointed to the label on the tub. "Look here. It say's 'do not eat'. And you know why?" I said, pausing for effect. There was a hush around camp, even Thorin and his little clique glancing our way, watching the drama enfold. I probably should have kept quiet, given that I had only just managed to dig myself out of one hole, but I didn't. Of course I had to open my mouth and teach Kili a lesson.

"It's because it's poisonous."

"What?" He, and a few of the other dwarves, exhaled. Fili jumped up, glaring down at me accusingly, like I had force-fed the offending skincare range to his brother on purpose.

Ignoring the urge to roll my eyes, I threw the tub back into my bag, completely nonchalant about it. "Yep. It's poisonous," I said, popping the p's.

"What's going to happen?" Kili asked me, his voice quavering through worry.

I shrugged, pausing as if to think. Finally I said, "Your tongue will turn blue. And then fall off. And then you die."

"Is there no cure?" Fili demanded.

Suddenly aware of the fear in Fili's eyes, and the panicked expression on the rest of the dwarves faces I realised that I should probably wrap things up before they got further out of control. I really just hoped that they could take a joke."Well... I have heard that there is one thing that can cure it," I informed them.

"What is it?" Kili asked in a small voice, as if he dared not be too hopeful.

I smiled at him, a grin that probably bordered on being sadistic. "It's called not being so fucking gullible," I told him simply.

There was a pause. A very long pause. I continued to grin, because what else could I do? Run for my life before Thorin made the order to kill me? Inform them that it was a joke and all in jest and hope they didn't take offence and kill me because of it?

But then Kili started chortling - the panicked expression evaporating off of his face - and Fili managed to smile and all the dwarves began to laugh and have a jolly good time about my little joke. Gandalf looked amused and Bilbo looked bemused, but everyone else seemed pleasantly happy. All apart from Thorin, who was glaring at me, eyes dark and filled with distrust. Yep, I thought to myself, breaking my gaze away from him and forcing a choked bit off laughter out as my attention returned to Kili rolling on the floor laughing his arse off, Thorin was going to kill me. He was going to fucking kill me.

**AN: I guess I should start off by apologising for the months it has taken me to update. My muse disappeared and by the time it returned, my attentions had been moved elsewhere and I couldn't be bothered to write. So I have no excuse other than laziness and a slightly busy schedule. But I should be updating on a more regular basis now, and if I don't, I will update. Eventually. I'm like the Terminator. I'll be back...sometime, in the near or not so near future.**

**Anyway, I wanted to update before the year ended, so here is the chapter. It went in a bit of a weird direction towards the middle, but I hope you enjoy.**

**I also hope you have an amazing NYE (that is, if you haven't already moved into 2015). Be merry. Dance. Get really drunk. Or, you know, stay in and read my fanfiction. **

**I'm off now to put my face on and try and look my best for an evening of debauchery, so I'll leave you on the revelation that...I DO NOT OWN THE HOBBIT. If I did, that last movie would have ended a lot differently. **

**I hope you have an amazing New Year's Eve and an even better 2015!**


	12. Chapter 12

"It was nothing more than a simple joke. She meant no harm," Gandalf said to Thorin, trying - and ultimately failing - to get me back into the dwarven king's good book. Not that I had actually been there to begin with. It was obvious that Thorin had despised me since we had met. Nevertheless, the wizard was desperately trying to clear the tension that had yet again fallen onto camp the following morning.

Despite the fact that I was sick of Thorin glaring at me - the dwarf had done nothing but silently simmer since last evening - I hadn't asked Gandalf to have a word with him. I was pretty much resigned to the fact that Thorin hated me. I didn't care. I wasn't too fond of him either.

"It was unnecessary. It was spiteful," Thorin replied.

"I thought it was funny," Kili - bless him - piped up, only to be told by another dwarf to be quiet.. A small argument had broken out, only silenced when Thorin told them all to shut up.

"She is already causing trouble," Thorin growled, as if the argument had been my fault. I hadn't even spoken yet that morning, and I was apparently already creating mischief and mayhem. I couldn't help but smile to myself, silently pleased by my achievements so far.

Apparently the bad blood between us was ruining the morale of the rest of the company. We had only been travelling a day, and it was obvious that people were getting fed up. Mainly Bilbo, who had not stopped wallowing over the loss of his comfy, little hobbit-hole. But some of the other dwarves were also wearing glum expressions, and the excited energy that had flittered through the group yesterday was long gone. The morning seemed to arrive too early, and slowly the dwarves unwillingly dragged themselves away from their bedrolls.

That said, I was still lying down, eyes firmly shut and pretending to still be asleep. Surprisingly, I was warm and cosy in my little nest of dirt and dried leaves, and I refused to move until it was time to leave camp.

To my complete surprise , I had actually slept really well last night. Maybe the long day spent travelling had worn me out, or maybe my body had finally succumbed to the shock of being in Middle Earth. I wasn't sure. Either way, as soon as my head had hit the makeshift pillow I had made out of one of my jumpers, I had fell into a blissful slumber.

And then morning had come around way too early for my liking and the not so gentle sounds of the dwarves woke me up. They had been clomping around camp for the last half an hour. No one had dared rouse me from my fake slumber yet, but I doubted that Thorin would allow me the honour of having a lie in. I just felt sorry for the poor sod who ended up with the task of getting me up.

They were still talking about me. Still arguing over the merits of having me on this journey. Or lack of merits. Thorin still didn't seem convinced by me. Could I really blame him? I mean, I hadn't exactly made the best of impressions when we first met. And usually I didn't care what people thought of me. They could love me or they could hate me. I wasn't fussed. The only person's opinion I cared about was my own.

But this was going to be one hell of a long journey if I didn't try to make things right between Thorin and me. Only, I wasn't too sure if I could. Usually I could mould the situation to however I wanted it. I was the puppet master and the world was my toy. Harvey used to call me a manipulative bitch. That was one of the nicer compliments I ever got from him.

But Thorin wasn't Harvey. I doubted he'd be impressed by my sly tongue. He would just assume I had an agenda; that I wanted something. In a cruel twist of irony, this was the first time I had no agenda. I wanted nothing. Nothing but to go home. And unfortunately I couldn't do that until I helped the dwarves take back Erebor.

"She is nothing but a liability," Thorin was currently saying. "She does not care about us."

"Believe me, she does," Gandalf said, his voice calm and wise and generally patronising. "Miss Ainsley just has an unorthodox approach to sharing her feelings," Gandalf replied, causing me to swallow the snigger that dared to escape as I listened to his words. I suppose, for once, the stupid old wizard was right. I did have an 'orthodox approach' to feelings. As in, I didn't have any.

"I do not like her. I do not trust her," Thorin replied, dismissing the wizard's comment and seemingly ending the discussion. Yep, I thought to myself. He definitely does not like me.

"Someone get her up. We leave in ten minutes," Dwalin said gruffly. No one moved. No one dared to come close to me. The dwarves all moved away, busying themselves with the preparation for the day ahead, all pretending to be too busy to wake me up.

Eventually, it was the hobbit who wandered over and crouched down beside me. I could tell it was him by the silent footsteps. He gently pressed his hand on my shoulder, but before he could shake me awake, I opened my eyes and grinned brightly at him. "Morning Bilbo," I whispered, making sure that none of the dwarves heard me. All I needed was for them to realise I had been awake the whole time and listening in on their conversation. Somehow I didn't think that would win me any brownie points with Thorin if he realised I had been spying on them.

"Oh, you're awake," was all the hobbit could muster up, blinking in surprise at my cheery form. Like me, he glanced around camp, checking that no one had noticed our conversation.

"Yep," I replied, slowly sitting up.

"Dwalin said-" Bilbo started to say, but I interrupted him.

"One moment," I said, grabbing the clothes that I had piled at the top of my bag last night and shimmied back under my blanket again.

"What are you doing?" Bilbo asked, but instead of answering, I started to strip. I threw my top out, silencing the hobbit with an embarrassed "oh".

I could just imagine him face going bright red as he realised what I was doing under the covers. "I can come back," he said.

"Don't. I'll be done in two," I said, swiftly changing my underwear and pulling a clean pair of leggings on. I thought about throwing my discarded bra at the hobbit, knowing too well that his reaction would be priceless. What wouldn't be priceless would be the dwarves, if they happened to see what I had done. Somehow I didn't think that throwing my under garments around would make them like me any more.

Instead, I pulled my clean jumper on, immerging from the covers with a triumphant smile. One minute thirty eight. God, I was a pro at getting changed in small, dark places. After all, I had had a lot of practise. Bilbo was still a shade similar to a tomato. "What? A girl's got to change."

I ran my fingers through my hair, grimacing at the amount of knots I could feel.

Busying myself with the task of finding my hairbrush, I placed a finger up to silence Bilbo as he began to speak up again. "But-" he said, but I quickly shushed him. The only thing I cared about was sorting out the mess in my hair. I finally found my brush and began to task of de-knotting my hair.

If I had known about my sudden and totally random trip to Middle Earth, I probably would have chopped the whole lot off. Sure, I loved my luscious locks. But I did have a slightly practical side to me. I would have had it styled into a neat bob, or maybe even go for a pixie cut. That way, no knots. No mess. It would be nice and simple. But no. Of course I hadn't been forewarned. Although, if I had been, I probably wouldn't be here. No, I would have gone and gotten myself locked up in the nearest psych ward, because things like this don't happen to normal people.

Bilbo was watching me."I think we're-" he was still trying to inform me, but again I cut him off.

"Pass me that bobble," I said, gesturing with my head to the abundance of bobbles laying at the top of my bag. Dutifully, Bilbo passed me it, and I gathered my hair into a high ponytail. "Come on," I said, standing up. "I think we're leaving soon."

Bilbo groaned but followed me. I grabbed my discarded clothes and threw them in my bag and shut it again, before walking over to the fire and sitting down again. The hobbit mirrored my actions. "How are you this morning?" I asked, although not really caring about his answer. But I thought I should at least sound polite and ask. After all, the hobbit was probably going to be my only friend on the journey. Or, should I say, the hobbit was probably the only one I could bully into becoming my friend.

Like the dwarves, I doubted Bilbo actually wanted anything to do with me. Why would he? I had been nothing but mean, spiteful and obnoxious since I had met him. But he was probably too polite to tell me to piss off and I was going to use his manners against him and force him to be my friend. So as he grumbled about the terrible night he had endured, I ummed and ahhed and pretended to care about his wellbeing.

"That's such a shame. I slept splendidly," I told him, patting him on the knee whilst glancing at the pot sat on top of the fire.

Bofur who had been hovering, noticed my gaze. "You can have the rest of that, if you want. I was only going to throw it away so you might as well have it," he said, moving forward and taking it off of the dwindling fire and pouring it into a cup for me.

I smiled politely and took the cup he offered, because a dwarf was being nice to me and that didn't seem to occur often. "Thanks," I said, taking a sip. It was weak, watery and lukewarm. The smile plastered on my face faltered as I forced it down my throat, trying my hardest not to gag.

Both Bilbo and Bofur looked at me quizzically. "I'm more of a coffee person. Never really did like tea," I offered them as way of explanation, shrugging my shoulders. I downed the drink and passed the empty cup to the dwarf, before standing up and heading over to the others, who now stood around the ponies. I found the animal I had been riding yesterday and gave her a pat. I hadn't bothered asking if the pony had a name, but mine was the only white pony so she was easy enough to find in the group. "So what's the plan for today? Anything exciting planned?" I asked to no one in particular.

I was met with confused looks and silence. "We travel on," Dwalin informed me, my sarcasm completely going over his head.

I just offered a tight smile and nodded. "That's good to know," I muttered, attaching my belongings to the pony.

"Naomi," Gandalf said cheerfully as he crept up on me. I pulled a face, my fake smile dropping immediately. I was still pissed off at the wizard. In fact, I was hell-bent on being pissed off with him for the entire journey. Maybe I was being melodramatic. Maybe I should let bygones be bygones. Or maybe I should be a total bitch to him because he kidnapped me to a fictional universe and expected me to sort his shit out for him.

"Gandalf," I managed to choke out, the disgruntlement clear in my miserable tone.

"How are you this fine morning?" he asked. He didn't care about my answer though. He was using the same sickly sweet tone I had used minutes earlier with Bilbo. It was easy to spot; the fake politeness and insincere cheerfulness. I should know. I used it all the time.

So instead of calling him out on it, I plastered on yet another forced smile. "Oh, I'm grand," I told him, tone positively merry. "Although, I've got to admit...I'd be even better if I wasn't stuck here with you."

"Oh. You're still not over that," Gandalf said, frowning slightly. Obviously he didn't know me as well as he liked to claim. If he knew me, then he would know I wouldn't let something like being forced into Middle Earth go lightly. I would scream and shout and generally be a pain in the arse until I got my own way. And sure, I had come to the realisation that I wasn't going to be seeing home for a while. But that didn't mean I was going to play nicely with the wizard. He had bought me here. He could deal with the consequences.

"No, apparently I'm not," I informed him.

"Will you at least allow me to try and make it up to you?" Gandalf asked me. I frowned, but nodded, suddenly bored with the conversation. "Good. Good. You will ride with Bilbo and me today."

I stifled a sigh of annoyance. "Great," I muttered darkly, forcing a bright smile onto my face. God, my jaw was going to fucking ache after the day was done.

**AN: So this ended up being a crappy filler chapter. My mind has been focussed on what is coming up in later chapters, and I just couldn't concentrate on making this one a bit more interesting. So you have my deepest apologies.**

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. Most of you are on anon, so I can't reply, so I'm just going to put a generalised 'thank you' here and tell you all that your support means everything to me. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit. **


	13. Chapter 13

"You're being rather quiet this morning, Miss Ainsley," Gandalf commented, breaking away from his conversation with Bilbo. They had spent that last hour discussing gardening and I was completely bored out of my mind. I had stopped listening to them at the first mention of germaniums, instead choosing to stare at Thorin's back, who I was unlucky enough to be riding behind. But I guess that being that close to his royal pain in the arse meant that he couldn't turn and glare at me unless he was going to be completely obvious about it.

I just shrugged my shoulders at the wizard. "My father always told me that if I had nothing nice to say, then don't say anything at all," I replied. And god, did I have plenty to say. Unfortunately most of them contained insults and expletives, and I was trying my hardest not to intentionally anger anyone today. It wasn't like I was a bitch all of the time. Only 95%. I could be nice when I wanted to be. So in my attempt at being nice, I kept my lips sealed tightly, not bothering to make conversation.

Gandalf looked at me disapprovingly, his forehead furrowed deeply. But what did he expect? Did he really think forcing me to spend time with him would make me suddenly want to forgive him? Did he not realise how infuriating he was? How his very presence made me want to scream?

But then I noticed Bilbo's face drop, as if he thought my barbed comment was aimed at him. It hadn't been. No, it was aimed entirely at Gandalf. I peered around the bothersome wizard and shot Bilbo a small smile. "Sorry if I'm being grumpy. It's probably because I missed second breakfast."

As soon as he took in my words, his face lit up; excitement brimming on his rosy cheeks. "You know about second breakfast? How?"

"I know these things, remember?" I said, trying to do my best Mystic Meg impression. In front of me, Thorin tensed, as he not so subtly listened into the conversation we were having.

"I'm going to miss second breakfast," Bilbo replied sullenly. Instead of smirking at how pitiful and pathetic he sounded, I offered him a small smile instead. Slowly I was realising that the hobbit and me were similar. On any other day, that thought would have made me laugh. Or have a nervous breakdown. If I was back home I would have denied any similarities. I mean, I was awesome. I was intelligent and witty and independent. And Bilbo...well, Bilbo was Bilbo. He moaned and complained and wanted nothing other than to go back to Bag End and lead a pretty uneventful life.

But wasn't that what I wanted? To go home? To have my normal life back? To have my many luxuries back? I smiled brighter this time; a pure, completely sincere smile as I realised that I didn't have to force or bully Bilbo into being my friend. I could just go down the normal path and befriend him like a normal person. I mean, we were in the same boat. We were similar. We could bond over our mutual love for materialism.

So instead and being spiteful and mean, I decided to be nice and caring for a change. "You'll be back home having second breakfast in no time," I said, my tone honest.

Bilbo blinked; probably surprised why I was being so nice to him. "How can you be sure?" he asked, voice breaking slightly as if he was trying to not get his hopes up.

Again, I smiled. Not a vicious smile, or a teasing smile, or a smirking smile, or any of the false ones I had been giving the dwarves. A genuine smile. "I know these things, remember?" I repeated, touching my forehead with a finger.

"Really?" Bilbo asked, a sense of hopefulness seeping into his voice, as he bounced up and down on his pony. Either he was beginning to get excited, or he had just lost control of Myrtle. I wasn't too sure.

"Really. We're going to have you home safe and sound and most importantly in one piece before you know it, Bilbo. I promise. You're going to be fine. In fact, you're going to do amazing things on this quest," I told him truthfully. I wasn't certain if I would actually manage to change events concerning the dwarves, but I was certain that Bilbo was going to have his happy ending. Someone had to have one. And after everything that Bilbo was going to be dragged through and forced to suffer with, he deserved to be happy at the end. I shot him a small smile, praying that he would take my words as being sincere - because they were - before turning my attention back to Gandalf who had been watching our conversation intensely, a look of bemused pride beaming from his face. I wanted to scowl at him, because it wasn't like I was being nice to Bilbo for Gandalf's benefit. No. I was being genuine. I was being nice to Bilbo because I liked him. And, you know, I figured I might as well befriend one of the few people who weren't going to die on this bloody quest.

So instead I gave Gandalf a pointed look, one which clearly said _See, Naomi can be nice. When she wants to be_.

"Thank you," Bilbo said, giving me a small smile and bringing my attention back to him.

I frowned, unsure what I was being thanked for. It was something I wasn't exactly used to. People tended not to thank me. And it wasn't because I never did anything to deserve it. I mean, sure, I tried to not be helpful. If I was helpful, then people would depend on me. People would come to me for favours and I just couldn't deal with that. But I worked hard all the time. I got on with my work and my studies and I just got on with life. And never was I thanked. Maybe it was because was expected of me. My boss expected me to get him a coffee every single day, and although I was being paid for it, it wasn't exactly in my job title. I was expected to study hard because I had earned a scholarship and I wasn't allowed to put that money to waste. I was expected to get on with life because no one else was going to help me achieve things. After all, you could only rely on yourself.

And I guess, Gandalf expected me to sort out this mess of an adventure. How? I wasn't sure. Use my amazing skills at sass and wit to change fate? Who knew? But whatever happened, I was pretty certain I wouldn't be thanked at the end of it all.

Realising that Bilbo was still waiting for a reply, I just nodded. "You're welcome," I said, still not sure why exactly he was thanking me. All I had done was tell him he would go home. But if he wanted to thank me, then he could.

The situation was starting to get a little too sappy for my liking. I could only deal with a certain amount of niceties a day, so I quickly changed the subject. "You know what I'm going to miss most about home? I mean, apart from central heating, and hot water - or even just running water for that matter - and Netflix, and my hair straighteners?" I paused, having to take a gulp of air as I listed off near enough every item in my flat that I suddenly found extremely useful despite having taken it for granted just days earlier. God, I thought to myself. I was certainly not built for the wilderness. Or the past. Or a fictional universe that was unfortunately set in an alternative past wilderness.

"My bed. Memory foam mattress, Egyptian cotton sheets, duck feather pillows. It's the most amazing bed ever, Bilbo," I told him, grinning at him and trying to ignore the feeling like I was acting like a total idiot. I mean, there was no denying my bed was awesome, but I wasn't exactly the sort of person who gushed about their belongings. But Bilbo was, so I tried to engage him into conversation. And, to my surprise, it worked.

Soon me and Bilbo were listing off all the items we would miss in quick fire succession. I said my coffee maker. Bilbo said his books. I said my laptop. Bilbo said his armchair. And yes, I had to try and explain all of my items to him, but Bilbo seemed to understand my explanations better than the dwarves, so I only had to resort to using the 'it's magic' answer a few times.

And despite the fact that it was nothing more than small talk - and I generally despised small talk - I was actually enjoying myself. I hadn't had a good old, two way conversation with someone in such a long time. At least, not with someone who actually listened to my answers. Or who didn't interrupt me and demand I explain something, like the dwarves had done the day earlier.

Plus, it was obvious that Thorin was listening in on our conversation, probably hoping I would mess up and spill the evil plan he obviously thought I had. Which meant he was forced to listen to our inane, boring chitchat the entire morning, until it got to about midday and he decided he had enough. After we had stopped for a brief lunch I was told to ride at the back of the group, thus ending my bonding session - and blossoming friendship - with Bilbo.

**AN: This is a shorter chapter than I usually write - I tend to aim for 2,000+ words usually - but I really wanted to include a scene of Naomi trying to be nice and it seemed like a fitting place to end. I also wanted to get another chapter out before I start back at work tomorrow (after two weeks off over Christmas, I am really not looking forward to my 6.20 start in the morning) which means that the next time I get chance to sit down and write will be Wednesday evening at the earliest.**

**Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed and been generally awesome and amazing.**

**Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN THE HOBBIT!**


	14. Chapter 14

The days had begun to sort of start to blend into one long, monotonous montage of travelling, eating and sleeping. You know, like in the movies when there's wide shots panning out over hills upon hills? Sure, it looks pretty to look at on your screen. But when you're there in the flesh, it starts to get a little boring.

Every day was the same. I'd be the last one up. I'd scoff down the last remaining bits of breakfast. We'd get on our ponies and start travelling for the day. Then we'd stop. Sleep. And begin the process again. I assumed that adventures were supposed to be exciting. But they weren't. I mean, I knew what was coming up, and although trolls and orcs and whatnot were dangerous and posed a risk to my life, I sort of just wanted to fast forward and get on with the exciting bits. I wanted action. I wanted bloody violence. Anything to spice up life a little bit.

Most of the time I spent with Bilbo, or Ori - who still had a thousand and one questions to ask - and sometimes I hung out with Fili and Kili, who I really didn't want anything to do with, not when I knew how the story was going to end, but couldn't help gravitate towards due to their warmth and sense of humour. They were easy to get on with. And out of all the other dwarves, they took didn't take offense quite so quickly.

We had finally stopped for the day. It was maybe the third week, or perhaps the start of the fourth. I wasn't took sure. I had long ago lost count. Hours seemed to stretch on like days when you're sat on a pony with nothing to do to stare at the landscape around. And sure, it was pretty awesome landscape. But after a while, it just turned into a sea of green. Trees. Green. Hills. Green. Grass. Green. It was all too tedious for my liking. I was a city girl. I needed red buses and black cabs and neon lights to keep me entertained.

Whilst the other dwarves got out the things to set up camp for the night, I wandered over to the two brothers. To my surprise, it was easy enough to start a conversation with them. All I had to do was ask a question about their weapons, or fighting, or 'how long does it take a person to die after you've stabbed them seven times?'

Today's question was about archery. Mainly "But why?" It was a question I had heard a million times off of Ori. "But why?" he'd ask. Or "But how?" I suppose it was endearing...at least, it was endearing when it wasn't annoying as hell. But I thought he was simultaneously cute and pathetic and he amused me, so I answered every question as patiently as I could, because he was trying to be my friend and I was starting to realise that I might need some friends on this long journey. Especially seeing as I wasn't too convinced that Gandalf would be able to send me home after I was done in Middle Earth.

Fili and Kili had just finished sorting out the ponies, and had sat down at the edge of camp, backs against an apple tree, smoking their pipes. I inhaled deeply, my craving for a cigarette sky rocketing since hanging around with a bunch of people who did nothing but smoke all day. God, I missed tobacco. And nicotine. Especially when I only had mint gum to try and chase away my cravings. I sat down next to them and picked up Kili's bow, which he had discarded in front of him. "But why did you choose archery?" I asked Kili, watching him sort out his arrows.

Instead of giving me a long and lengthy answer - like I did whenever Ori asked me a question - he just shot me a mischievous smirk. "Why not?" was all he said.

"I tried archery once. Hated it," I said, grimacing at the memory of the massive bruise that ended up stretching the entire length of my left arm. I suppose it could have been worse. The string could have sliced my arm open, instead of bruising the skin. But my god, did it bloody hurt.

Both of the brothers looked at me in surprise, blinking madly at me. "You've tried archery?" Fili asked, the disbelief clear in his voice.

I took mild offence at his comment. I mean, sure, I didn't come across as a strong, warrior woman. But that didn't mean I couldn't look after myself. "Yeah. I tried it at Centre Parcs. It was horrible. Force family fun and all that. Worst week of my life...not including these last few ones," I said, shrugging it off. Still, the brothers continued to stare at me. "Take a picture, it'll last longer," I snapped, but of course my jibe went over their pretty, little heads.

I sighed. "What?" I asked, impatient. "Is it because I'm a girl? And that means I can't try to learn to fight? I'm not allowed to defend myself?" Okay, so I had decided to expand my one hour of learning archery into something much bigger than it actually was, but I figured my small lie would be totally worth it if I got to call out the brothers for being misogynistic pigs.

They shook their heads, the panic gleaming in their eyes as they realised that, for once, they had been the ones to offend me. "No. No, of course not," Kili said quickly, the words spilling out of his mouth in one complete stream. "I just didn't think they had weapons were you're from?"

"Oh," was all I managed to say. I mean, they were right, of course. I had told them that. Deciding to ignore my own outburst, I nodded. There was no need to admit to jumping to the wrong conclusion. No need to admit fault. "Right. Yeah. We have some weapons, but they're not for day to day use. Archery is more of a hobby than an actual skill where I'm from," I explained, shrugging my shoulders.

"It is a skill," Kili exclaimed, causing me to smirk.

"Is it? I mean, isn't it just about pointing and aiming and hoping for the best?" I teased. Beside me, Fili started to smirk at my words, watching his brother jump up and turn to face me.

Kili, bless him, started to explain the finer points of archery. His tone was impassioned as he told me that it was 'most definitely pointing and aiming'.

I stood up. Despite the fact that he was a dwarf and I was supposed to be a fully grown adult human, we were the same size. And I was still wearing my heels, seeing as I had no other pair of shoes to change in to. "Prove it," I challenged, smiling brightly and cocking an eyebrow up.

"I will, don't you worry," Kili retorted.

"And how exactly is this going to work?" Fili asked lazily, looking up at us with amusement in his eyes.

I bit my lip, trying to come up with some rules. "I bet you can't hit all three moving targets," I said, spinning around so that I could face the tree. Standing on my tiptoes and stretching as much as I could, I finally managed to pick three apples from the tree.

"And when I do that? What is my prize?" Kili asked. There was no doubt in his voice. He knew he could do this. And so could I. I mean, I knew all the dwarves were bad ass. Which meant I wasn't going to bet on anything that was worth much.

I smiled at Kili. I knew exactly what to bet with. Since he had spotted me chewing my gum, he had begged me for some. It was like being back at school, trying to sneak some gum and then the whole class noticing and demanding a piece. "If you manage it, you can have some of my chewing gum," I informed him, throwing one of the apples up in the air and catching again.

His face started to glow with excitement. "You're on," and with that, he started get his bow ready. I didn't even bother telling him that we hadn't figured out what I would get if he missed. Not that he would. I didn't even feel put out that I had been duped out of some of my chewing gum. It wasn't like Kili had done it intentionally. And I had been the one to start the whole conversation. Maybe this was what having friends did to you. Maybe it made you stop wanting to trick people out of things and instead just have a meaningless conversation with them.

"Ready?" I asked Kili. He nodded enthusiastically, quickly glancing around camp to make sure we were well out of the way and that he wouldn't accidentally shoot Nori with an arrow.

"Ready," he affirmed, waiting for me to throw the first apple. Only, I had never said I was going to throw them one at a time. So in quick succession, I threw them all up, causing a look a panic and surprise to shoot across Kili's face. He still managed it though. Somehow two of the apples had lined up together, allowing him to shoot them down with a single arrow. With quick, graceful and memorised movements, Kili pulled another arrow out of his quiver, placed it on the bow and shot the other apple down. All in under three second.

I blinked. Then smiled. And then clapped. What can I say? I was impressed. "That was a fluke," is what I actually said, but my voice was clearly teasing.

Kili was lapping up the attention, giving me a small bow; a massive grin plastered on his face. "And you dared to doubt me," was his reply.

"So modest, Kili," I laughed. "I think you need to get some green tights there, Robin Hood."

Kili bent down to pick up the apples, pulling the arrows from them. The he throw one at his brother, one at me - which I only just managed to catch - and kept one for himself. "What?" he asked, taking a massive bite from it, completely confused by my comment. I hid a smirk, silently amused my his puppy-dog expression. I had come to the realisation that using pop references confused the dwarves. And I took great delight in confusing the dwarves. It had morphed into a game for me.

I threw my apple away; after all, I hadn't witnessed Kili clean his arrows and I knew he was responsible for catching our delicious meals every night. And when I say delicious, I mean disgusting. There was only so many times a girl could eat stew before she started to gaga at the texture of it. "He's a figure of folklore," I explained, sitting down once again.

Kili looked surprised. "You're not insulting me?" he asked me, his tone cautious as if he didn't trust me. I tried to ignore the stab in my heart; I mean, I had been trying my hardest to be nice to the dwarves. Especially the brothers and Ori. I had only called them stupid idiots on a couple of occasions. And yet they still assumed I had some hidden agenda.

"No. Actually it was a compliment. He stole from the rich and gave to the poor. He's considered a hero where I'm from," I explained to him and Fili.

Kili sat down next to me. He gave me a tight smile. "It's hard to tell with you sometimes," he admitted.

I mirrored the smile. "I know. But I'm not actually a bitch all of the time, you know." Suddenly, the cheerful mood soured. Instead, tension surrounded us. I glanced down, unsure of what to do or say. I mean, I knew he had a point. I wasn't exactly known for being nice. And although I had been trying, I obviously hadn't been trying hard enough. At least, not to make a proper impact. My idea of being nice was probably considered normal human behaviour by most people.

But most people hadn't had to grown up with the shit I had to grow up. Sure, there were loads of people who had to grow up with a broken home and a broken family. I was nothing special. But it had helped to shape me into the awful human being I was. When the first example of love you're exposed to turns out to be a lie - turns out to be a cover for pure hatred and loathing - it kind of messes you up. And when your parents - the people who are supposed to love you and support you and be there for you when you need them to be - ultimately fail and leave you to sort out your own problems, it kind of gives you trust issues.

And that made being nice hard. That made making friends hard. I was too aware of how a person can turn against you. Too aware of how people can use and abuse you. I had figured at an early age it was better to be selfish. It was better to not care, because then I wouldn't have to deal with the mess.

"I'm going to go down to the river for a wash," I told the brothers, not really wanting to spend time in their company any more. It must be nice, having someone who is constantly there for you. Who is constantly looking out for you. I couldn't imagine what it was like to have that sort of relationship. Even when I was dating Harvey, he didn't care for me. Sure, he cared whether I looked nice. he cared whether or not I would sleep with him that nice. But if I ever got into trouble, I knew he wouldn't help me out. He'd just leave me to struggle, because that would be easier than having to muck in and maybe get his hands dirty.

I shook my head, physically trying to shake these thoughts from my mind. My past wasn't something I liked to dwell on. Because I was lucky. Nothing tragic had ever happened to me. And yet here I was, a complete and utter mess. I had nothing or no one to blame for my awfulness, other than myself.

I wandered through the thin layer of trees that separated camp from the river. It had been too long since I had been given the chance to wash, and so I wasn't going to let my self-wallowing get in the way of me enjoying a nice, long swim in the river.

Only, as I begun to peel my jumper off - anxious to get rid of the dirty layers and jump into the gentle currents of the river - the sound of someone coughing caught my attention and forced me to pause. I glanced over my shoulder, not bothering to hide the sigh of annoyance as I realised Thorin had followed me.

"I'm about to bathe, so make it quick," I told him. Perhaps I should have at least sugar coated my words in an attempt to show a little bit of respect, but I was tired on being nice and I really wanted to wash the dirt from my skin. Plus, it wasn't like Thorin was ever nice to me. In fact, he barely ever spoke to me. If he had a question, he would aim it at Gandalf instead of me, because apparently I was too below him.

Thorin's face darkened as he took in my words. Yep, after three and a half weeks travelling together, we still weren't friends. I was heartbroken about it. Not. "We need to talk," was all he said.

**AN: I know I said I wouldn't be able to update before Wednesday, but it turns out I lied. I can update before then. So here you are, the next chapter. A part of me is worried that we're already on Chapter 14 and there has been no action, but I just feel like I need to explore Naomi's character before throwing her into the thick of it. Her cracks are starting to show a little bit, and will continue to break in further chapters. That said, the trolls will be coming up in about 3 chapter's time, I think. So we should have plenty of action then. Not that Naomi will be involved in it. Could you imagine? Having to fight? With a sword? No, definitely not. She might break a nail.**

**On the topic of weaponry, the thing Naomi mentions about bruising her arm whilst doing archery is actually based on my own experience. Unlike her, I actually love archery - not that I'm any good at it - but if I don't have an armguard on, I end up completely destroying my arm. So yeah. I just thought I'd share that titbit of information =]**

**A massive thank you to the people who continue to read my story. I'm aware it's not the greatest (or the best written) so your support means a lot to me. I think once I've finished writing it, I'm going to redo it slightly. I was actually going to start doing that straight away, but I now think it's a better idea to finish writing the story before I go back and rip it to shreds with my merciless editing skills.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit! **


	15. Chapter 15

The words 'we need to talk' had never filled me with joy. Those four words seemed to be the bearer of bad news. Throughout my 24 years, whenever someone had something important and life-changing to say to me, it always started with 'we need to talk'.

Like when I was twelve, and my parents brought me downstairs to the living room for a family meeting. "We need to talk, Naomi," my father had said. And then he proceeded to tell me that he and my mum were getting divorced, but that I "shouldn't worry, because this does not affect how we feel towards you." And he was right. They had always been mildly disinterested in my life. That didn't change when they split up.

Or when Harvey broke up with me for the fourth and final time. "We need to talk," he said, words slurring from the half of bottle of wine we had already drunk. Harvey had never been a big drinker. Couldn't handle the alcohol. "I don't think we should see each other anymore. Period. It's just not working." I hadn't been surprised by it. I mean, I had heard the rumours. It was well known around campus that Harvey slept with a new post-graduate student every year. Those relationships had never lasted. Ours did though. Two and a half years we spent together. Good times. And bad times. It had been a turbulent relationship. And a cliché from start to finish. I'm not sure if that made me the lucky - or unlucky - one, being with him for so long.

But when Thorin Oakenshield, king of the dwarves, utters the words 'we need to talk,' I didn't feel nervous. No. I felt fucking terrified instead. I was well aware of how easy it would be for Thorin to kill me if he wanted to. Usually I wasn't one to back away from I fight - I was too confident in my own abilities and thought I could win around any situation. But I wasn't stupid. No amount of flattery or flirting would get me out of this situation. Somehow I knew I was on the losing side. And I was also well aware that I hadn't exactly made the best impression on him. I knew I was annoying and obnoxious - and I had been extra annoying and obnoxious recently in an attempt to wind him and the rest of the dwarves up - and I would probably want to kill me too if I was in his shoes.

So yeah, I was nervous. That said, I refused to show it. Fake it until you make it was the mantra that took me through life. So instead I took a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to stop me from hyperventilating. "About what?" I asked, giving him a brilliant smile and trying to sound as annoyingly perky as possible.

Thorin took a step closer to me. If he was trying to intimidate me, then unfortunately he was succeeding. As soon as he had spoken, I had checked whether or not he had a weapon on him. Of course he did. The hilt of his sword was shining obnoxiously at me, mocking me.

"This quest," was all he said, his eyes clearly sizing me up. I frowned, not really sure what he wanted to know. After all, it was his bloody quest. If he didn't realise the risks or the consequences then maybe he deserved to die, especially if he was going to be so stupidly ignorant about it all.

"What about it?" I looked down, deciding that I really didn't want to enter a staring contest with him. I already knew how that situation would end. We were both too stubborn and would refuse defeat, but then I would eventually grow bored and he'd win and think he had some sort of power over me because I was the one to look away first. It was petty and stupid, and I refused to be dragged into such a game.

Plus I really didn't need to focus on how amazingly blue his eyes were. I liked blue eyes, what can I say? And older guys. I liked them too. But I wasn't attracted to Thorin in any way. No. Definitely not. The guys I tended to chase after were usually taller. And human. And not fictional characters. They did usually end up being total dickheads though, and Thorin was definitely coming across as the king of all dickheads.

Still anxious to take my bath before the sun disappeared - it was now hovering too close to the horizon for my liking and I refused to go in the river in the dark - I started to strip. Not my clothes, because that would have been a weird thing to do, even for me. Although I supposed the sudden appearance of flesh might have made Thorin shut up. Instead, I pulled off my coat and folded it neatly, placing it on a rock so that it wouldn't get dirty. Sure, it was already starting to look tired and worn and every time I saw a loose thread my heart clenched in panic, but I was determined that my beloved coat would at least still be wearable after I got back from this damned journey. Then I took off my boots and socks, and started to take off my jewellery, placing it on top of my coat for safe keeping.

Thorin watched me carefully, his hand sitting atop of the hilt of his sword, as if he thought I was going to spring a weapon from somewhere and suddenly attack him. Which, if I actually had a weapon, I would probably have done already. Eventually, realising that I wasn't much of a threat, he asked "Will we succeed?"

I paused, mulling his question. And by paused, I mean was silent for a few minutes, hoping to freak him out by lack of answer. I was back to acting like a bitch again. I mean, there was a part of me that pitied the dwarf, because it was obvious that he was in two minds over asking the question the question in the first place. And I could understand that. I supposed it was better to be blissfully ignorant .

I also got that this was a major deal. Sure, I was acting like all this meant nothing to me - because it didn't. I literally didn't care what happened to these stupid dwarves. All I cared about was getting home in one piece. But I wasn't such a horrible person. I recognised how much this quest meant to Thorin and the others. I knew this was important.

And I would have probably started to treat it like a major deal if Thorin wasn't being a total dick to me. I knew he didn't like me. I knew he thought I was below him. I knew he would rather have me anywhere other than with him. So yeah. I was being a bitch back to him. But he totally deserved it.

"With what? I eventually said, choosing to act dumb, my jaw slack as I blinked at him in confusion, trying to hide my humour as Thorin growled at me and probably said something very offensive about me in Khuzdul.

"The quest. Will we succeed?" Thorin asked me angrily, stepping closer to me. Too close, if you ask me, because now there was barely thirty centimetres between us. And unfortunately, in my efforts to distract myself from his pretty blue eyes, I had managed to get myself trapped between him and the bloody rock I was stood in front of.

"Oh," I said, as if I suddenly realised what he was on about. I nodded enthusiastically, "If you mean do you kill the dragon and take back Erebor, then yeah. You do," I said, choosing to omit the bit about him dying a painful and bloody death. And the fact that both Fili and Kili would also die as well.

I mean, I knew I would have to eventually tell him. But not yet. Not now. I couldn't. Sure, I was a horrible person. Sure, there would be a small part of me that would be pleased to wipe that smug look off of his face. But despite all that, I couldn't tell him.

I didn't even have a plan yet. I couldn't tell him about his impending doom without being able to say 'don't worry, I have a plan'. I needed to be prepared and at this moment in time, I really wasn't. The only thing I had so far that resembled a plan was hoping that there was a spare store cupboard in Erebor that I could lock Thorin, Fili and Kili in until the battle was won. And somehow, I didn't think I'd achieve shoving three dwarves into a small space. Not without them putting up a fight, at least.

"Then why are you here, Miss Ainsley?" Thorin asked, brows furrowing at me as a frown appeared on his face. "Why do we need someone with your talents - or should I say, supposed talents - if we are to succeed?"

"To constantly bring joy and cheer," I deadpanned, quirking an eyebrow at him. "I'm a valued member of this company, I'll have you know." That was a lie, and we both knew it. But I was stalling because I didn't actually have an answer to his question. I still didn't understand what I was doing in Middle Earth. For the first time in my entire life, I had no idea what I was doing. I had no answers. No explanation. No confidence that I was doing the right thing. And that petrified me.

"Because Gandalf told me," I replied lamely. I knew how pathetically stupid I sounded. I mean, I used to laugh at the people who constantly did what other people told them. In fact, I was usually the person doing the bossing around in the first place. Oh, how things had changed.

Thorin was still studying me, his eyes ever so watchful. I glanced up at the sky, wincing at the oncoming gloom of night, beginning to get impatient with the conversation. "And you do everything Gandalf asks of you?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so," I admitted. It pained me to say it, pained me to admit that Gandalf had a hold over me. But he was the only one who could get me home, so if he told me to jump, after a lot of complaining and clear disdain, I would eventual ask 'how high?'

"You do not like him, though," Thorin replied.

I couldn't help but bark out a sharp laugh. "No, I don't. But then again, neither do you," I told him, knowing that the wizard's annoying ways wound Thorin up, like they wound me up as well. Maybe I had finally found something I could bound with Thorin over; our mutual dislike of the Grey Wizard.

"That is not the point," Thorin said, not bothering to deny it.

"Then what is? Because I'm tired and bored of this conversation, so if we could just hurry it along, that would be awesome," I said, sitting down on the rock. I glanced down at my nails, studying the chipped paint on them. I didn't need to look at Thorin to know he was glaring at me. Of course, he was always glaring at me, but I could tell that he was giving me one hell of a withering look.

"I want to know the reason why you're here. And if you give me any of that 'it's magic' nonsense, I will not be blamed for my actions," Thorin growled at me. I looked up and blinked, surprised that he had caught onto my crappy explanation for everything. It was a little disconcerting, realising that the dwarven king was apparently listening into every conversation I had been having.

"I'm here because Gandalf wants me here. You have a problem with that, speak to Gandalf. You usually do," I said bitterly. It was so frustrating, being ignored all the bloody time. I mean, it's not like I wanted to befriend Thorin or anything. But you know, some eye contact - glaring at me didn't count - when he spoke to me would be nice.

"Gandalf seems to think you have the power of foresight, but I've yet to see you predict anything," Thorin commented, doubting my 'abilities'. I wanted to point out that he didn't mind believing in me when there was money and bets involved, but that would probably open up another argument and I was already bored out of my tiny mind with the conversation we were currently having., so I held my tongue.

I glanced up to the sky; there were clouds forming. "It's going to rain tomorrow," I said dramatically, but it was clear that we both thought I was guessing. Thorin gave me a scornful look, not impressed with my comment. I just shrugged in response. "What?"

"You do not have foresight, do you?"

I sighed. "Yes and no," I said, being particularly unhelpful. Impatient, I began to tap my foot, wondering how long this freaking conversation was going to last. I didn't have all day. Well, I did, but that wasn't the point. The point was that I didn't want to speak to Thorin anymore. He had gone weeks with ignoring me, and now he suddenly became chatty? I didn't like it.

Thorin mirrored my sigh, probably getting as bored of this conversation as I was. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

I wasn't going to lie for the wizard any longer. I refused to be dragged into something that I wasn't even supposed to be a part of. Gandalf was to blame for this mess. So yeah. I dropped him in it, with no hint of remorse in my voice. "Gandalf has a way with words. Yes, I know what will happen on this quest, but not because I have any special powers," I explained, a part of me pleased that I could finally get this crappy little lie off of my chest. Usually I had no qualms with lying. In fact, I strived on it. I was great at it. But then again, I usually wasn't lying to a group of people who could easily decapitate my pretty, little head. "I know what will happen because, where I'm from, it's already been written down. And I can read. So yeah. The great mystery is revealed. I guess Gandalf just wants me around to make sure everything runs smoothly and to plan," I offered, shrugging and pretending like the wizard wasn't expecting me to perform miracles.

"That is all?"

"Yes. That's it. There's no big conspiracy," I said, my tone sharp. "Are we done?" I asked. Thorin nodded, still not looking like he fully believed me, but I wasn't exactly asking his permission to end the conversation. I was ending it. I didn't want to talk anymore. I stood up, and in one swift movement, took off my jumper and threw it on the pile with the rest of my clothes.

Of course Thorin spun around, but not quick enough for me not to notice the fact that his eyes lingered on my body a second too long, or that there was a slight blush appearing on his face. I smirked, glad to have finally found a way to shut up Thorin. it wasn't a tactic I could use on a regular basis, but at least I had finally figured out a way to get under Thorin's skin. And that was simply flashing mine.

"We're done," Thorin repeated, his voice sounding forcibly calm. I watched him retreat quickly, silently laughing to myself as I took off my leggings. Still wearing my underwear, I stepped towards the river, wincing at the coolness against my skin. I started to wash, trying not to focus on the fact that by revealing one lie, I had managed to lie about something else. Something bigger. But what was I supposed to do?

Because despite the fact I really didn't like Thorin, I didn't want to watch him to die.

**AN: This chapter was getting a bit out of control, so I've had to chop it in half. The other half should be up sometime over the weekend. I hope you like it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit**


End file.
